My Mother’s Decision

It hurt too much to
love me, that’s why she didn’t
offer me her breast, the thick
colostrum like honeysuckle,
vein-tucked breast into her bra
to stop the milk from flowing.
I was given a bottle, powder, warm
water, a splash onto the wrist,
my mother holding me above
her head like a crown, soon
to take me everywhere she went . . .
the Honda Dealership, Temple Kol Ami,
even the floor where I was born,
would become a shared bed, where
we would later stay latched
to the aspirator like a nipple,
the oxygen keeping her alive,
but not living, soon to detach
and tear us apart

Laura Ohlmann is an MFA graduate from UCF. Her work has appeared in The Rumpus, The Lindenwood Review, The Maine Review, GASHER, South Carolina Review, and others. She currently lives in Asheville, NC and enjoys traveling in her converted Honda Element and biking up mountains with her partner and dog.