Annunciation, by Buffy Shutt

Slaughtered Ox, by Rembrandt (Netherlands) 1655

Annunciation

The brightest, the easiest? The first few moments. 
No vomiting, no leaking, no drip-drop when you sneeze.
No fluids to worry you— is it blood, wrong time. 
The moment when no one knows not even you.
 
I hate women who say they know exactly when
their child was conceived,
like a stenographer lying down recording the act,
the firing right on target.
It seems a dirty boast. It bugs me
they want to log the coronation moment.
 
Where was I exactly
that I didn’t notice
the rush, feel the thunderclap’s slice?
 
Now, I’m hanging upside down like
Rembrandt’s ox.
My muscles softening, I grow tender.
Suspension transforms my carcass into
an embryo’s bonnet.
 
Don’t run out of me.
Envy Mary her notice.
I got none.

Buffy Shutt
 
Buffy lives in Los Angeles where she writes poetry and fiction. A two-time Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, her work appears in Lumina, Whatever Keeps The Lights On, Rise Up Review, Dodging the Rain, Split Lip Magazine, Anthropocene. She was awarded the Cobalt Review’s prize for their baseball issue.