Any Random Month

The month in his parent’s basement, damp from rain at the America concert, sweating

The month of every day, every night. Of timing it wrong for a week straight.

The month where we only touched ourselves, divorce firmly on the table between us and a chid

The month I took the morning after pill and didn’t tell you

The month we reconnected — ironically after I had kissed my high school ex-boyfriend — and the baby we said we’d stop trying for finally arrived

The month she disappeared just as quickly

The month of mental breakdown bangs and wine-red hair, of kidneys moving bodies and tortured silence

The month two eggs burst free. At the same time? One after another? Does it matter?

Neither of them became children and

The month after another rupture brought me to a dirty airplane floor, to a stretcher, to a hospital bed, to a hotel bed, to a month of anguish.

The month our vacation became a second honeymoon. Our efforts fun and carefree,

The month I learned the truth of my childhood, the padlocked refrigerator, the emotional abuse. The egg that finally dropped into a dance floor full of partners. Chose one, multiplied.

The month of Margot.

— jthrill