Rialto of the Bones of Womyn I’ve Loved (a sinking heap)
poetry by Afieya Kipp
My wife came to me, a figment, last night.
Skin kissed by the Mexican sun with a voice like fall leaves being stuffed down an eager throat.
She carried the promise of life in her bronzed belly.
We went from staring lovingly into each other's eyes to floating aimlessly through powder clouds to being dumped into snow and laughing hysterically.
Its cliche, forgive me, but there was nothing more beautiful than watching her, pregnant and all, tumble to her feet as our baby radiated inside her.
A lapse and another tumble later we were at a hospital located in the middle of a forest.
Doe eyed nurses and doctors with the anatomy of animals were of no use as I tried to find a place for us to deliver our child.
Our language, when spoken, floated through the air and crashed into the ceilings; exploding into black matter that simply dissipated. Growing frustrated, I decided to enlist the help of a fellow human and we raced to the elevators, excavating each floor like a mother hen desperately searching for the perfect place to lay her eggs.
2, 7, 14, 17 ?...no luck.
Back to the first floor we went and I heard as she called out to me.
Grabbing onto my hand, her Mexican tan began to fade. Her eyes grew black and lifeless and the once glowing belly began to dim.
I dropped to my knees and wailed.
She begged me to stop, as to not distress her or the baby, but how could I?
The state of my sanity being pushed to the nearest of edges.
Suddenly, our fellow human pointed north.
A comely older woman gathered us both into a hazy blue forcefield and instantly my wife began to shimmer again.
Was she a Goddess?
An angel?
It didn't matter because in her eyes, the answer revealed itself to us.
Staring plainly, her pupil, like a magic eight ball, revealed a milky number 6.
She smiled at us and the forcefield shattered in slow motion only to be sucked up into her fingers.
We bolted into the elevator once again as the older woman called out to me.
The sixes still affixed in her eyes she grabbed into my arm and whispered
"The sixth floor is more than just a delivery location, my
friend. Its home. You are going home."
Floor six smelled like incense and puti floated all around us spreading pansies.
Amazonian women with outfits made of leaves played trumpets and outfitted my wife and I, along with our human companion, with garlands made of orchids.
They led us to a room where the fantasy continued.
Tiny rabbits lifted my wife from her wheelchair and placed her onto a bed of banana leaves.
The love swelled in the room, butterflies circled around her as the banana leaves concealed her.
A shot of brilliant orange light came through the tops as my hair blew back, the buttons of my blouse flew off and the room gently shook.
Gradually the banana leaves lowered to reveal my wife holding onto a tiny, pale-faced thing.
It wriggled and whimpered as I reached out to it.
She whispered "Its a boy. What do you want to name him?"
I searched the faces of all who gathered into our tiny room.
The rabbits were overjoyed. The doctor had tears in his eyes the size of cantaloupes. A
nurse was praying to a golden Buddha statue at the end of the room.
"We'll call him Home."
Home was he and I and she.
My wife nodded and the nurse branded his thigh with his name.
Putting her hand into mine, I kissed it and kissed Home.
Her voice resonated within me deep and crumbled the white walls all around us
"I love you Afieya, with everything that I am. I love you, I love you, I love you."
Afieya Kipp is a poet, editor and the founder of Vessel Press, an independent, electronic micropress by womxn, for womxn. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Badlands Literary Journal, The Penmen Review, The Thought Erotic, Rose Quartz Journal, Thought Catalog and elsewhere. Keep up with her here: afieyakipp.com