By Andrea Potos

Dumbstruck by birth-lightning,
I stood at the library counter,
my first hour without her.
To the woman with the brown glasses
and sane smile, I announced:
I have a daughter now -- the sentence sparking
through my spine
as she stamped my books with due dates.
I gathered them,
veered back out
onto the sodden December sidewalk,
breast pads slipping loose inside my sweater,
my bottom aching still
with the chronic, astounding
truth of my words.

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