First Miracle BY A.E. Stallings

First Miracle BY A.E. Stallings

Her body like a pomegranate torn Wide open, somehow bears what must be born, The irony where a stranger small enough To bed down in the ox-tongue-polished trough Erupts into the world and breaks the spell Of the ancient, numbered hours with his yell.

Now her breasts ache and weep and soak her shirt Whenever she hears his hunger or his hurt; She can’t change water into wine; instead She fashions sweet milk out of her own blood.