Pale periwinkle stretches on the walls
when light beams through thin clouds.
Lying on the floor, the sheet and sheer
pajamas cling to my calves.
Plastic wrinkles as I move, and you,
sprawled out on the vinyl mattress like a starfish,
scrunch into the fetal position.
Wind blows the motel door wide open,
raw waves glide in glacial movement–
slow but known.
I slide in a cold bath like a slippery minnow.
You pull me out, leaving the unborn under the sink.
– Rachael Crosbie