Tanya, Part One

Like a small animal, she left for the countryside
where she filed her nails by the coatrack at Mr. Murphy’s
store and grew a belly the size of a prize winning melon
full of water and blood. She returned different
between the words, the spaces filled up, her arms
empty with the smell of afterbirth, lights in the sky,
his tiny hand clutching her thumb in a dream.

This is titled "part one" because it does not feel finished to me. It came from two places - the first line is from the play M. Butterfly. The next line is from an exercise in my fiction writing class last night. I wrote it on the train on the way home.