Like a Bomb That Hasn’t Gone Off
and it’s resting in my womb, it is my womb,
so I move easy, tiptoe even, because anyone else
wouldn’t think it’s beautiful this way
like a brilliant calico scallop smudged iridescent pink and
orange and bone white, unpicked from the sand because if it weren’t whole
I would have to stand there and scream
like a bluejay crying while the neighbor’s dog cracks
wings from body outside my bedroom window before
I make it there with a broom
like a wound unmade, a bulb of yellow iris
produces itself again and again every time the
mud thaws out under the ice
Hayley Phillips is a Virginia native, currently pursuing a PhD in English at Louisiana State University. She received her MFA in Fiction from Randolph College in 2021. She also serves as an editor for LSU’s literary journal, the New Delta Review.