Kleptomaniac
Light drops from my side
with a new girl screaming
into the silent, rose-filled air.
She loves my face and
her father’s soft embrace.
The baby is a kleptomaniac.
She has stolen my placenta
and sucks my sagging breasts
like a hungry lion.
She cries like a girl as mad as bats
and steals my hearing and sanity.
My stomach still bulges and
my thighs are as thick as tree stumps –
the baby girl shows me she breathes
softly and has no responsibility.
She is a little God.
Copyright © 2015 by Dawnell Harrison
Randomly Accessed Poetics 