“…my estrogen kitchen
my black bag of desire”
—Lucille Clifton, “Poem to My Uterus”
I wanted to see you
when they pulled you out,
hold you in my hand
like steak so tough
I spit into napkin
rather than swallow.
Wanted to weigh you
for size, compare
the gravity of your slick self
against the shame
of losing you.
When I was a girl,
my legs were for running,
for scarring on barbed wire
and twigs. I barely knew
you were there—wound tight
and waiting to spring.
The change began with a click
and a whir that dragged me
out to sea on one wave,
tossed me on shore with the next.
Intricate machine,
always at the center,
I wish I had looked you in the eye
when you got out,
shut the door and left me
to steer the rest of the way
down the hill alone.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 3.
Melody Wilson’s poetry appears in Rust and Moth, One, B O D Y, San Pedro River Review, Rock Paper Poem, Gyroscope, and other publications. Her work has received many awards including an Academy of American Poets Award and multiple pushcart nominations. Her first collection, Madre Dura, was the 2025 Paul Nemser Prize winner from Lily Poetry Review. A graduate of Pacific University’s MFA program, she lives in Portland, Oregon.
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