![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/56019e_aae2ec88f2da4cc68909feb76f1cc320~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_49,h_49,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/56019e_aae2ec88f2da4cc68909feb76f1cc320~mv2.png)
Over a low soft hill
is a black forest.
Weave your way
through the dark tangles
to the forest’s heart.
There springs a river of blood
and at its mouth, a scar,
sewn for a second time.
Follow that thread to this story, to a mother’s birth story.
In my dreams, I have never given birth.
I yearn for you to touch me, to
insert something in me, as if
for the first time.
In my dreams, I am a woman. But not
the kind of woman I am now.