This is a poem of witness I wrote that appeared in my first chapbook:
Birthright
Past knots and tendons,
I look
through bone
and see,
in centuries past-
my face shrivel
as flames rise higher.
The point of a sword
slashes my belly.
Today, head to toe in black,
I barely breathe,
walk the required
steps behind.
The open hand
of my husband
reddens my cheek.
In India, China girls
form the Greek chorus,
and chant,
Never born,
Never born.
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