[Mila Chapman, 2016]
Perched on the rail of the bridge,
she wraps her legs to fold in triangles
over his shoulders. He’s picked her off the edge.
She lifts her T-shirt as he staggers,
swaddles his head inside it, cradles, strokes
the bulging belly.
Faltering blind off the end
of the bridge, he drops to his knees.
The strain is too much. He’s falling
and shoves her off to save himself.
She groans to the ground releasing his head.
Pushing to her knees she looks
back. Her belly is flat.
Bits of broken grass stain her face.