Karma Is Calling

Standing over the bathroom sink, heaving, I am gazing at my own reflection in the mirror, A black bra and French underwear covers my val-uable parts. The rest of my brown skin is emit-ting a golden glow from the light descending from the ceiling. I run my hands gently over the scars on my belly from the surgery. They pulled out my Fallopian tubes together with the baby that embedded itself in the walls of my uterus. A sigh escapes my breath; strength eludes me and my knees succumb to my weight. I grab on-to the edge of the sink to break the fall. I know I am being punished. Why do I have so many skeletons in my closet that if I coughed, a bone would fall out of my mouth? But everyone has secrets, right? As for me, these are the secrets I have been trying to bury that have crawled from the grave to come haunt me.