Between the Two

by Hayley Young

The little knife burned

deeper through the thick layers of yellow blubber
slabbed on the mother beluga whale.
The smoke singed my hot nostrils under the plastic
and I reached into the dark cavity
my hand sliding into the warm space between the two.
The white towel swallowed the hot red blood.
It was the same white towel that I used last summer
to clean the counters of the ice cream shop.
And it was the same white ice cream
that glistened and glittered
coating the Alaskan landscape each night
tucking it in.

If I was so sad about my own fertility

taken from me eight years ago
without my permission
then why were no tears shed under the plastic?
Why instead
did I feel my stomach breach
clear saliva
flooding my mouth
when my hand was tucked inside this warm, dark cavity
between the two?