You were perplexed by the women who came up to your swollen body. Remove your hands, you wanted to say. Don't touch me. What a blessing, they said. What a blessing? No, you were an animal, you thought, a heatless bitch, ewe, cow, doe. You carry one of your own kind. The conception is nothing. That happens whether chosen or not. It is the persistence of life. One is begotten. One begets.
( Ronlyn Domingue )
[ The Mapmaker's War ]
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