By Paulette Guerin
At 3:00 a.m. a storm whips the trees.
I roll over, breast aching.
I’ve weaned, am back on birth control.
The pill has a warning label
three pages long. Is the stab
a side effect of the hormones
flooding into me to keep a baby out,
or is this phantom pain?
There’s no duct swollen with milk.
Maybe thrombosis, a favorite side effect.
Or old tissue trying to be useful
for more than sex appeal.
Do I wake my husband,
ask for his familiar touch?
The wind dies, day breaks.
Outside, all the leaves have been stripped.
Paulette Guerin is a graduate of the MFA program at the University of Florida. She lives in Arkansas and teaches writing, literature, and film. Her poetry has appeared in Best New Poets, ep;phany, Contemporary Verse 2, and others. Wading Through Lethe is her first full-length poetry collection. She also has a chapbook, Polishing Silver.