Cowardice

The baby cried from somewhere

In the black cotton

She didn’t want to punch her way

Into the darkness

 

What if she only made it half

And faltered?

What if she made it all the way

And the baby faltered?

Where was the promise?

The certainty?

The guarantee?

Why begin if the end is unseen

Her devilish muse taunted

In her own voice

Lot’s wife, rooted she stands,

Knowing she didn’t know was better

Than the uncertainty of finding out.

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