Before She Was BornDeborah Ager
Not yet a silver sin — all lanugo, vernix sheen, sheer skin slough. Not yet called forth to map a vague path home. She was a green cloud fomenting, roads filled with boiling blood. She was enough to spook houses that woke to apples and a spark of sun — Enough to tap the whirring, purring feline from a nap on the glowering abdomen. I rattled. She roused to water, that slurry, that grey pool. Raised a dot of fist to suck a thumb. What held sway beyond that beyond.
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