Dahlia soaked cotton reeks ammonia 
vulva is a song at work on repeat and traffic-jammed
vulva is proof of nothing 
bubble wrap popped silently and with a pair of scissors 

sheds grammar from the uterine wall vulva 
has a lot to say, most of it already said 

dilates deep space portals between consumers 
and consumed       crackled with packing paper
vulva needs to sit down but the chairs have been taken away 
and now vulva can’t hide sobs from their cousin 
sciatic nerve who is quilting with dispassion 

a hip that loathes to make a fuss
gravity tugs cervix with a boredom rolling sour
on vulva’s tongue   the dahlias won’t lose 
their iron taste for at least twenty more years
vulva opens and closes an umbrella 
inside us no rain on the horizon

dear managers of the world we would like to cease
to be defined by pain so please 

let us burrow in the snow 
as we wait for the lights to turn off
we can last the day but it’s what our ancestors used to do, 
dream and eat and read until the bleeding was over.