Your belly swells with sperm-like creatures
five hundred of them. No-
a thousand. Deep, sticky masses
gripping each other's tails, siblings
to the inside of your womb
coating it
leaving a hollow center
the ring of white
a pulsing moon of baby fish.

As you heave with the task of expulsion
I wonder if a fetus could
in the dark.

I tried to count the sperm-like creatures
as they came one by one
it was impossible,
like trying to count the clumps
of plaster stuck to the ceiling
rings of blue glazed
on the side of the bath tub
or pods of the finest beluga caviar
served on a potato chip.

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