His hooves plowed through 

your shut closet. In your bedroom,

you got weighed down 


in a hailstorm of uranium. 

An aquitaine occupation,


the horse neighed a bucking desire 

to call your womb, your egg mistake

his territorial property. 


When you stepped over to calm 

his haunch, he snorted a punch 

like Pa’s fist across Ma’s jaw. 


This spawn burned scars

into your fallopian hallways.


You felt a pulse reverberating.

The ultrasound revealed

a hole in my spiked heart.


Originally published in 3 Moon Magazine (2020) and forthcoming in Still Human (2024)

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