It Returns

This morning, I woke with fear
draped across my waistline,
its arms like tendrils unseen
by the naked eye, a surprise
after nearly a year of peace
from the enemy who violates
and punctures stability as I sleep.

Will I ever feel the embrace
of serenity? Will I feel my scars
build tunnels beneath my skin
until the light disappears
from before my eyes? Will I lose
the integrity of my mind before
I know the sensation of nothing?

My love, I feel ashamed
to tell you that I hear her
rising in me with a temper
reminiscent of Grendel’s mother
after her son was all but slain.

My love, I feel ashamed
to express that I feel her
breaking out of her cage,
the sacred silence I knew
dissipating like morning dew.

My love, I feel ashamed
to admit that I cannot defeat
all that continues to grow
in me despite my efforts
to combat fate’s firm blows.

---

Hysterectomy, the Last Resort

Now that I am birthed from darkness,
my pupils shrink as my eyes meet the sun,
the joints in my knees loosen, welcome mobility,
blood cells beg me to sink my toes into the dirt,
reach my fingertips into the clouds.

Now that I am birthed from darkness,
my confidence renews its vows,
its sacred bond with the mirror.
My abdomen requests each organ find its place,
spread out, embrace e m p t i n e s s,

to exist without the pressures of a hateful and hungry neighbor.

Now that I am birthed from darkness, I am a woman:

somehow more than before,
in tune with my femininity—
a fact that proves one thing I always knew
but could never illustrate to the doubtful:

a woman is more than a womb,
a woman is more than a canal that carries a fetus,
a woman is more than a child on her hip,
a woman is more than blood pouring from the uterus.

---

Alicia Swain (she/her) is the author of Steel Slides and Yellow Walls (Belle Isle Books, 2025). Her poems appear in publications, such as Roanoke Review, Libre, and Vast Chasm. 

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