Tusk

He tries to wake her from the torpor she’s slipped into like a nightgown carved
of elephant tusk. Gently cups a palm to her belly, empty now. She lies beside, 
caged by bone, as though the tusks themselves ripped the baby, barely breathing. 
He tells her they can try again, but her body has an elephant’s memory. She curls 
in her ivory casket, wants to crouch her knees to chest, elbows to stomach, but 
can’t bare the position.

© Meredith R. Pal