Mother

Mother, How did I move in your body when your womb was my water? With synchronized spins and magnanimous kicks? Was it with small hiccups and countless whips? Perhaps pushes from my paws that stretched beyond the glow of globes. What a strange way to see me before meeting me. But how wonderful it must feel to hold your child before touching them. A heartbeat between iridescent walls becomes a prism that passes through our placenta — and I see you. Not with eyes, but through waves and I answered back with one sleepy foot. Cell formations build feelings as well as function and I hope you heard me; asking for forgiveness. Perhaps nine months was too gentle. I should have held tighter to the umbilical cord that held us together. I should have reached for the toughest rib not yet destroyed by the sins of my father. I should have breathed my last breathe when I knew it would be my first. Then… then I wouldn’t have to deal with this pain… stretching into this empty skin.

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