The Jagged Void


Tomorrow morn
      The sun will shine.
But this sharp thorn
      Will still be mine —

This jagged void
      Where you were born,
Sharply deployed
      When you were torn

From me—and yes,
      An arrow, shorn,
As if, roseless,
      It could adorn

This womb. My lot
      To curse? Forsworn.
Yet will I not
      Tomorrow mourn?