Henry's Birth
- for Shayna
Henry rests upon the floor of the world
as you rock, and open, and sing
into a feral place, where you hold
onto the counter, touch the cold
blue tiles, small ponds of quiet, that will bring
Henry, resting upon the floor of the world.
Your body begins to fill, to flood
blood, sweat, urine. You begin slipping
into a feral place, where you hold
your goodbyes. Everyone else waits for hello
and you feel him leaving the cradle of your being
Henry, resting, upon the floor of the world.
And then it's time to let go, the midwife has told
you this moment would come, and yet you linger
in that feral place, where you hold
your hands in the rich loam of birth, feel the bold
cracking of your body, a rock deep and sweet
as Henry, resting upon the floor of the world,
in a feral place, where you hold and hold and hold.
(Published in WomenArts Quarterly)
- for Shayna
Henry rests upon the floor of the world
as you rock, and open, and sing
into a feral place, where you hold
onto the counter, touch the cold
blue tiles, small ponds of quiet, that will bring
Henry, resting upon the floor of the world.
Your body begins to fill, to flood
blood, sweat, urine. You begin slipping
into a feral place, where you hold
your goodbyes. Everyone else waits for hello
and you feel him leaving the cradle of your being
Henry, resting, upon the floor of the world.
And then it's time to let go, the midwife has told
you this moment would come, and yet you linger
in that feral place, where you hold
your hands in the rich loam of birth, feel the bold
cracking of your body, a rock deep and sweet
as Henry, resting upon the floor of the world,
in a feral place, where you hold and hold and hold.
(Published in WomenArts Quarterly)