Eve

Sometimes I lie awake at night and my mind is like my radio when it is between stations,
or,
like the marble effect at the traffic lights when the pedestrians scatter in every direction,
I want to be held by my mother,
and wear boy leg pyjama pants with pink hearts and cartoon depictions of pigs,
and giggle, I want to giggle until the day I die,
whenever that will be.

But there is a furnace in my breast,
and a huge well within me, opulently deep, empty
and yet flooded with longing, with hot empathy
there is blood in my urine,
and still my hollow womb aches,

I wonder if I dropped twenty five pebbles in to a virgin-still pond
one at a time,
how many ripples would reverberate from the point of entry
how much life and darkness and viscous depth
would be effected