Isabella

you are
feverish, straining to leave
the confines of my sister’s
constricting, unblooming
womb

you are
restless, unruly,
turning upside
down
pumping your legs
and stretching
my sister’s skin
until it sags

you are
making
yourself
a wild thing
as you make yourself
ready to pluck
like a soft
summer
plum

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