top of page

Cup 25: Running



I sit in the room with dead babies strewn across the floor in drifts like dark snow.


I’m supposed to feel something.


I want to run it doesn’t matter where.


Maybe you want to run with me.


No. You can’t.


I know the difference between alone and lonely.


I know the difference between shame and guilt.


I know the dead babies hate me.


They blame me.


I have a lot of excuses.


The judge doesn’t care.


I am running running running looking like a normal person sitting on the bus.


The babies are already dead, even though they are not yet born.

bottom of page