Mifepristone

Breath to glass like she always is during afternoon thunderstorms, palms pressed down against her guts.

She and the cat both noses to the open window, scent of the sun going down, warm asphalt to cold wet grass.

The apartment has been too quiet today. I have only been here to watch.

The bleeding continues from last night, she lays claim to all of it, the blood is no one’s but hers.

It rained all day, gray sheets that kept the nausea down as she keened out over our neighbor’s rooftops.

This is the morning we have bought ourselves, we can be nowhere but here.

When she stands in the bathroom doorway, little moth in overgrown wings, I can see her breathing steadying.

She has been everything: pounding, heaving, pleading, trusting.

She weathers the storm, inhabits each moment. The blood is no one’s but hers.