Two Honour Killings

She asks Him for forgiveness, and knocks it back in one gulp,
eyes closed, teary cheeks, the life inside, dies.
A boy or a girl, she wondered;
“Would it have looked like me? Or him?”
Him. His face lucid in her memory,
as his eyes rolled back when it was all over.
The icky trickle of shame, of horror, of a life created,
and her’s forever, ended.
They blame her — “she made him do it”, they protested. Her own family.
“They can blame me for this”, she says, her tongue enjoying the acid.
Hands on her stomach, right over left, in prayer, she wishes it to die.
She thinks she feels a kick, a beat, a foot, a tingle.
A smile across her face — ‘tis done.
Her grandmother’s rocking chair, she rocks and rocks and rocks and….
smiling at her own reflection in one of the many mirror shards resting, waiting.
Gently in her right palm, she holds it, admiring her reflection,
before returning her hand to her stomach, with the shard — a penetration she has chosen,
on her own terms her life is ended.