Pelvic Ultrasound

–Ovaries: from Latin: ovarium, literally egg

 

I’ve waited to see you for years now

but when you light up the black screen

 

like night-shining clouds, I become

nervous and turn to the side. In static,

 

sound waves form you as sand does

to shipwrecked glass. How is it

 

that you and I always manage to live

among radicals—spiders electric

 

with poison, cat who sashays indoors

after a burglary, dirt clod that morphs

 

into a cricket frog? A gecko scurries pink

as sticky tack along the bathroom wall.

 

How it twirls to an embryo in my palm.

It’s expensive to get a good look

 

at you, though you’re not mine

to interpret what’s wrong. If anything

 

it’s a hypnotic display or a book

we hurled in the road. Once we broke

 

a bush with a loaf of bread, thrown.

Once we broke a bush with car’s hood.

 

The next day its bumper was smeared

with indigo. Any woman knows how

 

many colors can present themselves

in blood. Something must’ve happened

 

to make you go rogue. We used to connect

fragments of ice crystals. We needed chaos

 

and carnivores. Even wolves can change

the way a river runs, so what have we done

 

to cast biology into anarchy and fade

from our distinctive glow? Oh, you shells

 

along my vertebrae and the vertebrae

of my mother, you have hidden from me

 

an ocean’s depth, you of lunar odes

and filament, gossamer and tendril.

 

I can’t see much in the dark,

but I’ve felt your whispered pull.

 

We all are in need of rewilding.

You don’t have to do this alone.