Walking in the rain
the street light focusing on
the one illuminated section
of the shiny blacktop,
pancake shaped under the conical spotlight,
highlighting the frantic drops
that fall within
its cone-shaped boundary,
I contemplate the few
among the many,
each the same,
yet different,
set apart
merely by an accident
of their birth.

Midlife--New Beginnings

In the pregnancy of midlife
the labor is hidden
and unexpected
as the decisions of youth
send their signals to the brain
and the painful contractions begin.

What will we have?
Will the child be healthy--
able to survive on its own--
or will we all need to
rally around in prayer
and boil water
and find clean sheets
because we don't know
what else
to do?

Of Psalm 51 and Broken Arms

I wear my brokenness
before me...always...
reminding me
of my frailty,
forcing me
to step carefully
and watch
for obstacles
in my path--
reminding me
of my perpetual dependence.

i write again

when i was young
i found
that poetry
came from pain,
so i stopped writing.

now i know that pain comes anyway,
and so i write.

unbirthing

My skin is taut--

stretched

to the breaking point--

being pulled

from all sides

by the old

and the young--

The cells s e p a r a t e
at an a g o n i z i n g l y s l o w p a c e

and I silently bleed.


I call out
as the waves of pain
overtake me,
my lifeblood
spent and empty,
beyond sustenance,
no longer nourishing.

The placental essence

a rusty dust under my feet

to be blown away

by the wind.

Now begins
the long, slow slide.

Scrambling backwards
against the tide,
we struggle
against the inevitable
gravity
of the situation.