Hemlocked Heart

My stomach hurts
Well, not my stomach
My womb, I suppose
If history’s reliable
It will hurt most today
Less tomorrow and 
Nearly not at all the next day

But today I hurt
In a familiar way,
A way defined by a pain
Unlike any other sensation
I have, as of yet,
Experienced

Some months I shun the pain
Pushing it back to the
Dark recesses
Of my mind
To wail alone as my thoughts
Race to other,
Less painful, notions

Some months I pull it to the front
I bath in the pain’s resoluteness
I do.
In all the wombs that have brought
Life to me,
Sacred and infinite
My pain recalls their
Power and strife,
Life

Some months, still, I wallow in the pain
Discomfort becomes my day
And I lament anatomy and the
Patriarchal work week that makes
Me rise and exert energy I don’t have

Today,
I am in pain,
Not stabbing or burning pain
Just a constant groan
From my depths
That echoes through,
Up to, my brain
Ever few hours when painkillers wear off