by Jasmine Flowers


Now to write a book of birth,

eighty pages edged with gold.


Now to crack back the ribs

to peer inside fresh lungs.


Now to scrape the cavities

full of meat and metal ends.


Now to spit into open hands

thronging the empty flames.


Now to let loose the wails

waiting deep in my throat.


Jasmine Flowers is a well-watered poet from Birmingham, AL. Her poems appear in River Mouth Review, Cypress Literary Journal, perhappened, and more. She is currently a poetry editor for Variant Literature. Find her at and @jas_flow on Twitter.

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