Once she was a mystery of life
Now she is Skyping with her friend
It rings a hollow tone, childless
No longer a mystery of life, just less
She found stretch mark cream in an AirBnB bathroom
Rubbing it on her belly, she felt nothing
I was just an accident, even to myself
She is curious about crying nipples
To her friend she finds herself saying
"I wonder how I've managed to avoid conceiving
So many years, so little fruit
You know, maybe I would've just kept it
"Probably, I can't even do it", she says
She eats dried figs from a container
Once I was an accident, and a mystery of life
Once I made people believe in miracles, or God, or love
I was the hour of the star
And she was told she was the closest
She is made for other things
Born for cubist yearnings
Born to write, born to burn