Part 1: Babyhood
Mother may I tell you what I see?
Mothers buried and mothers alive,
mothers with and without babies,
mothers very young and very old…
I see you there
pacing the halls and blocks
breathing fire with each belly squeeze
on the path to birth
but you’ve always been prepared for this day,
like a samurai.
I hear your bear gut growls
and slicing bone howls
invoking the ripping open of sacred walls
And your relief
and shudders of disbelief
as that purple white wailing puffy baby creature
rests on your chest...
How you hope he’ll turn pink soon
and all your cavewoman instincts envelope
this foreign being,
closest to home there’s ever been...
and although it is so very different than you could expect,
you’d now die to protect…
that is wild bobcat business.
I see your deep sweat
leaking from dark eyes,
and all your strength to breath
now, even when the cry waters
have passed your nose.
I see your bulging biceps,
metamorphasized belly skin
and muscle inching back to the middle…
moments in the mirror,
mesmerized by its magic to show
a wholly new face…
and a new body
your eyes trace
over and over
in awe at it’s life-making capacity
and unsettling audacity to take up more space…
I see you look up at your partner
through pea soup fog
and notice in a fleeting sinking moment
the bittersweet grief
of what kind of life has died…
Wonder if he sees you the same,
what he misses of the past,
if he understands the depth of your tired,
and that this too shall pass.
Just wait my love,
enjoy with me what is,
now, so new,
precious in its rawness
“I miss you too”
you want to say,
and she cries again and the words slip…
only so much velcro for thoughts to grip.
And, I also see the sun-filled mornings.
Red lipstick and even jeans,
maybe earrings, until they are yanked too hard.
Shaking that bounty booty to Beyonce
in the kitchen
connected through lines of dance and drums
to the women of your tribe…
on earth or in heaven.
You feel them pulse their
through your pelvis,
and the power changes matter into
the magic that it is.