No remnants of boundaries
in the laboring hours.
In a fluid garment of
sweat and blood,
I am life-force unimpeded.
Quietly I flow and churn,
an equinox of consciousness.
My mind retreats inward;
a muscular twist
wrings it out again.
Withdrawing, emerging.
Adrift, anchored.
Dark, light,
Change unimpeded,
Until the wringing grip holds fast,
and I am captive in the stark light,
and there is no shadow for relief,
and I regain my senses
and see my nakedness,
and agony crashes in,
and I despair,
but feel my hand being guided
into the blood,
into the pain,
to touch the
downy head
of my son,
and discover
for the first time
wonder unimpeded.
© Laura Seale, 2016
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| Photo by Evan-Amos from Wikimedia Commons |
