Sasparilla listed her laments daily.
The nerve of that whooping rock
to fly onto her chest moments
after she and Emmett were doing
the right acts with their bodies.
At the edge of transition, the ceiling
drizzled symbols of sacrifice
that wet her head. When she looked
up she knew she was not afraid
to stay on the earth. Her masseuse,
hired by Emmett to rotate her
resilient zygotes, overheard the spelled
patterns and began to hunt down
the father in the silver wrapper.
Sassy’s paralysis waned as the truth
got pushed around in the voting booth.
She dragged Emmett out of the steam
and licked his diaphragm. She carried
him with her to watch the facts burn.
Together they iced their blastulae
in the space of the nothing around them.
(Words in italics from Jenny Holzer’s Laments, 1987)