Passage
— Rachel Edelman
after ‘Night Repairs’ by Molly Spencer
Long canoe of the womb,
eddy out;
the river is dropping.
Cavelike,
the turtles
have tucked away
for the evening.
The moon beams
back at herself
from the belly of a current
you were barely scraping by on.
Womb, wait where you won’t mind
the gravelly shudder.
Don’t ask
if our erosion
is a die-off.
Don’t ask if we’ve arrived
at our dead end.