Fortnight, forthright.

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Is it right?
To wait 14 days.

This sullen dark night hogs the sounds of the river but I know they are there. I will always know. They lap against the rocks like my heart pumps blood into my veins.

Was it right?
I cannot choose for them, so I gave them 14 days.

I think my children will be awake now, in the arms of a stranger or more. Maybe they'll be better, or should they fare worse, I've absolved my earthly rights.

Should it be?
Its 14 hours, I will surrender to you. Here, as promised.

Not a hesitation too soon. No more frantic search for the meaning of life, rifling through bookstores, lamenting on loss of direction. No searching for old lovers for reassurance that I was once loved. No pain of moving onward, forward and away.

I will open the red life to flow out of me onto the waters of earthly delight below. The swimming sins of plenty gasping like fresh fish on a meat cleaver's block. Red earth clouding up at the base like small puffs of nuclear refuse.

Am I doing it right?
Its already close to mark, the sign of 14 minutes.

I've waited a fortnight for this awakening. Am I so bold or forward as to ask, to request an anesthetic from the numbness.

I will see the light sparkle on the globes of air as it pierces the haze of heaven from the watery bowels. I will join the mistakes of my foremothers and end the cycle that plagues the women who carry my name. I' will give my daughter another life with this.

They will not carry the sins. They will be purged of the wrath. Preserve the sanctity, waters before me. You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Like you did to all the hopeful harlots before me?

Is it right now?
Forthright.
Good bye, daughter ... greetings mother.
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