I
have given birth five times or rather
Given
birth to life three times
Passed
objects of conception once
And
given birth-death on a cold
February
night when the car was an
hour
from the hospital once
I
held her, Birth-Death, in the sacred space
between
my legs,
She
rested there as I held her rubber like body
It
felt like she fought it, once more, briefly
Her
life force trying to spring back into my womb,
The
safe place she practiced living until
the
coiled cord, the coiled death device
Yanked
her still warm yet oddly freezing
little
self towards my cavern womb cradle
Why
do I still need to write this twenty years later?
Do
I somehow feel it justifies my failings now?
Do
I somehow think I can hide behind what
I
haven't been able to do now with what I wasn't
able
to do then?
Must
I relive those moments that I fell, tumbling,
somersaulting,
arms flailing, mouth silently screaming
into
that morbid Mother-without-a-child place
that
still born place I share with her and him and them
and
you and her, too - of beautiful voluptuary poetry, too?
She
has toured that vile, revisited far too often place
and
no, I will not turn to my phone and
no,
I will not answer your text and
no,
I will not go anywhere I don't want to go
or
do anything I don't want to do while
my
heart sits, aching, in my chest-platter
longing
for a soul-holder to cradle me
and
let my tears fall where they may
without
it becoming a battle for
"my
shit is bigger and badder and
more
painful than your shit" because
you
know what? I hate that shit or
worse
and brimming over with truth yet,
I am bored to tears of that shit -
I
feel the need to give birth to
whatever
this gelatinous blob
feeling that pulses in
the center
of my gut is -
and burst
it out of me so I can
get
on with my life.
(this was prompted by the dear ones at Sunday Scribblings who I am cursing and thanking simultaneously. Visit them here and be inspired by their prompts.)
Julie Jordan Scott delivers conscious inspiration in the Daily Passion Activator, - insights delivered directly into your email box. Why not Subscribe today? It's free.
