The doctor points to my beating heart 
on the ultrasound screen like I should know

by sight whether that dark, wet shape 
looks healthy. Outside, the sun disappears.

I passed the people wearing polymer glasses
on my drive to the hospital. When the pain

started, I pissed myself. The doctor assures me
I’ve got a strong ticker. This, she implies, 

is despite my choices. My hunger, 
my bird-bones, my body unable to bleed each month.

I used to be a real person, I whisper, watching
the squelching heart speed up. 

I kissed girls & ate cheese fries & ran
beside the Monongahela River & believed 

I would see multiple eclipses, in my lifetime,
long as it would surely be. 

– Megan Williams