Second baby
They peeled back my skin
like onion paper.
A burning smell as they cut
the gristly layers
of fat, sinew,
everything my body
saved for this,
to reveal
what had been living
inside me all along except
she was purple and un-breathing.
Nobody would answer me
from beyond the blue sheet,
crowded as they were
around the ventilator.
….
This poem first appeared in Literary Mama.
The poem can be found in the chapbook Venus Anadyomene by Alyssa Sinclair (Finishing Line Press) at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/venus-anadyomene-by-alyssa-lindley-sinclair/
Venus Anadyomene chronicles the trauma and change endured by a woman’s body through pregnancy and childbirth, while exploring the intersection of mental and physical health. The poems in this book consider the threat of climate change, parenting and existing as a woman within the political landscape in Texas, and a mother’s longing for a safer and more beautiful existence for her children. These poems play with form and voice, including prose poems, word games and prayers that evoke the visceral, the spiritual, and how we exist in between.
Alyssa Lindley Sinclair completed her Master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of St. Andrews. She grew up in the Boston area, and lives in Dallas, Texas. Her poetry and essays have been featured by Bear Review, River Teeth Magazine, Mutha Magazine, Literary Mama, and Poetry Society of New York, among others. She is the mother to three young girls.
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