her seat tipped back, my mother
grips her female urinal plastic and indiscreet
like a sacred fetish– her womb now null
ified beneath her short skirt, she
finds moments between the semi trucks
passing in which to lift the fabric and
piss — fuck it, I don’t care who sees
anymore. My father looks ahead and
listens to the splashing. Her surgery scar
marks the ending of my beginning. Her
cleft belly grins at the removal of
what once was my swaddling cloth.
No blood to stain her months anymore,
no life humming in what is now a chasm.
But I – I am in the back seat, pelvis thrumming
for the first time. Her womanhood diffuses
into mine – she fallows and I flourish. She
empties her insides and I scoop them up.