Nikki Ummel
AIRPLANE HEMORRHAGE
next to me, a stranger huffs,
his head lolling with each spat
of turbulence / eyes me every time
i ask to stand / the plane’s bathroom stall
humid with my spilling, blood tipping
from each edge of my pad / smells like
pennies the child by the door says
on her way in. You must be pregnant
grunts the stranger, fills the seat between us
with his frame. I cradle the words I cannot say
to my husband, a hundred miles away / settle
instead on shaking my head but he’s already
turned back to his seat, sighing.