mother by chris. you pulled your hair out by the roots and threw the handful of tangled mess at me, hitting me in the face. i didn't acknowledge it, not with a blink of my eyes. furious, you pulled more handfulls out and threw them at me. you're bald now, and your scalp is bloody with short patches of hair writhing from your skin. your piles of hair make a semi circle in front of my feet. some bits of hair cling to my shirt having attached themselves as they fell. greg stoops between us and sweeps the piles into a dustpan. he does this with only a few flicks of his wrist, then he is gone, back to the wall, waiting for his next errand. his efficiency is why we hired him. "drape a towel over yourself," i say. "you're naked, for god's sake." you don't move. tiny drops of blood slowly dribble down your face and your pale body. your fists are clenched white, bits of hair under your thumbnail sticking out. "a towel," i say to greg, then turn back to you. "you're naked and bleeding." our child screams from your belly. i sigh, "you're bleeding and naked and need to feed yourself." i walk out of the room and greg wraps the towel around you. "bastard are pig!" you spit at me in your broken english as i turn the corner. greg ushers you to the bathroom to wash your blood off of you. you'll be drowned there once the baby is out.

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