I have a kid and that kid was born
Because the hospital legally cut me in half.
See, I was there. I signed the papers.
A lot like student loans. They say, “Here,
Sign here where it says there is a 00001% chance
Of this terrible shit happening.” I did time in that
Measly percentage. They had to re-open a quarter of me.
Had to sign for that, too. I squeezed the bad orange
And still brought it home. Anyway, my son is great.
I am sorry to tell you there’s good knifework.
Couldn’t not stare at the hairy, fat knuckles
As they gripped the metal rail on the hospital bed.
“I can’t even eat watermelon,” they told me. “Let alone
Onion rings.” I rolled over, said nothing.
I can be like that when I’m being wheeled through
The hospital in the middle of the night.
The nice people asked me to cooperate
And let the student doctor poke me in the back
About 4 million times before her supervisor took over.
Then they were really nice and asked me about the radio
Station I wanted for when the big blue sheet went up.
What music I wanted for tugging a baby out of my body.
BRENNA YORK lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan.