Today is culling day for the undelivered; vacuum cupping a hairless skull. I feel you exiting my groin, bit by bit. Bundles of puce membrane flop out over entrails, squeezing lungs through brittle ribcages too shallow to bear your breath, too soon to unmother you. Was your face veiled, your belly tethered, your cry unslapped? You are only questions. If I could hold you, coax your chest open, blood-fill each pulse-less chamber and lay it plump as a pillow under mine, I would. Not within flattened flesh will I mend you; fuse fontanels, salvage from a bucket your limbs, knit sinew to bone, make you intact as you began, offer your fractured heart the empty whole of mine.