Dittrick Medical History Center, Cleveland
Wheels, whisks, wishbones,
silhouette of a tiny pine.
Birds in flight and fiddlehead ferns.
The uterus is a magic place:
dark as a cave, it accommodates
any shape we insert:
circles and snakes, beetles
and bows, fossils and fleurs de lis.
Some are even shaped like a uterus
in miniature, amulets for warding off
miniatures of ourselves. Leaves
of a plastic ginko tree unfurl—
no end to our genius, its infinite contours.
On this scaffold we build
a barren language in plastic letters:
expandable O's, flying V's,
X's like antlers, and a range
of two-handled T's, eager to get to work.