We all start in water ‒ endure its fullness,
bellies hoarding each molecule,
the swell of its ocean yelling
to our bones.

So when her tide breaks,
she’s hauled from
the house with the knowledge
she’s rupturing.

I brim mid-stride
on the uneven pavement, split our blood
for the first time. She watches me
glisten across tarmac,

takes her fulsome weight from the kerb
to the taxi, hopes to replenish
us both with a sack full of saline,
knows

she’s not the right one
to receive the cuckoo-baby nestling
in the thud of her pelvic bones.

– Abegail Morley