Womb, #207

Those first days, silent
and anonymous,
able to effect
only negative
side effects
an occasional
burp, upset stomach.
Spend those days doing
mathematics, practice
fractals, algebra,
solve for quadratic
equations. Imbibe
all the food given,
even the cheesesteak
gets down here liquid.
Try to remember
something forgotten
about origins
and evolution,
about genetics
what the Gods create
and the family tree,
bases of being.

You have an idea
that something might be
different. No,
not the flu, not food
you ate for dinner,
the backlash of some
ancient Japanese
recipe, pint size
leftovers ready
for you to take home
in a doggy bag.
Your best friends notice,
ask you about it.
Your friend doesn’t come
to visit. And now,
after all this time
you decide to test
your theories. A trip
to the grocery.
Looking for a plus
or pink or two lines,
the basic art of
hormone therapy.

The world shapes itself
into a spinning globe,
flat on the bottom
and top from the speed
at which it revolves.
Bodies mold to make
room for the outcomes
that may be upon
them, the cold weather
and tropical storms
forming in the Gulf,
near ready to come
ashore, to touch land
and devastate who
might still be living
behind these levees.
The decorations
in homes have started
going up, houses
shifted to make room
for the arrival.
Chickens are running
round without their heads.

We’re not awake yet,
please stop that moving.
Not that food again,
don’t we ever eat
anything different.
Off to the bathroom,
we’ve got to go now.
The room temperature
is too cold, turn up
the thermostat, don’t
listen to the dork
beside us who keeps
shouting, vibrating
our little kingdom,
has he no manners.
What kind of a clod
plays that wrecked guitar
and warbles off-key
into a belly.
Ok, time to sleep.
No, we do not need
to get up again.
Come back down here please.

When we bend, we crunch
up, end up doubled
over, hands to toes.
When we stretch, the length
of us is a long
vowel sound, a groan,
an exclamation
missing its point. Know
that we are both long
and short, what vision
you can imagine
and the shortcomings
of our whole species.
In our history
we are still promise,
all the outcoming
of virtue and sin,
yin and yang twisting
itself into itself.
We’re always tired
and in need of sleep,
in need of contact
afraid of shadows.

The world shapes itself
like a belly. Long
slow forming curves round
off whatever sharp
angles thought themselves
capable, able
to reach with these hands
and push the corners.
The globe turns itself
like a heaven. Long
sloped hilly ranges
peak wherever keen
angels think themselves
capable, able
to reach without hands
and move the mountains.
It’s time for dinner,
none of that yogurt
this time, none of that
protein that assists
a forming body.
Bring out the cheesesteak
and the hot hot sauce.

It’s getting hot here,
would you take off that
parka, that sweater
you think diminishes
the imprint of me.
There’s no point trying
anymore to hide
me. Next, I come for
the button on your
belly. An inny
to an outie. Next
I come for kidneys,
for the hot flashes
and your wild dreams.
Tonight, our movie
is brought to you by
local Mexican
eateries. What you
wouldn’t give for a
tequila. But I
am young and tender,
so easily swayed.
None for you today.

How’s the back lady?
How’s the swollen feet
and the tired neck
and the hemorrhoids?
Remember back when
you were just happy
to be pregnant. When
you imagined tiny
shoes and tiny clothes
and how I would look
up to you, and you
would look at me, with
such endearing love
and affection. Son
or daughter that you
always dreamed of. Mom
you wished you could be.
How’s the painful night
asleep on your back
when you wish you could
still roll on your side.
How’s the mood swings, brain
that makes sense no more?

It’s warm and cozy.
I want to get out.
Forever hold me.
I want to get out.
Why are these muscles
contracting around
me? I never did
nothing to bother
no body. Mommy
should I trust the voice
telling you to push?
It cold and lonely.
I want to get out.
Somebody hold me.
I want to get out.
It’s air I’m breathing.
No, its your body.
It’s air I’m breathing.
No more your body.
The doc just hit me.
Someone just cut me.
It’s warm and cozy
lying here Mommy.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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