Thursday, November 30, 2017

Being Born

I don't remember being born,
my mother's face, or my father,
barely old enough to shave.
I don't remember being lifted
into sterile space -
my toes without nails,
my tenderest openings undone.

None of us is truly finished.
The cut umbilical cord
slowly regrows itself
like a lizard's tail,
and what lizard's tale has ever
had a happy ending?
None of us

remembers being born,
the child faces of our mothers,
or our fathers, barely old enough
to shave.

linked to Open Link Night at dVerse

11 comments:

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh, this resonates with me........my ex and I had those baby faces. I think of my children, born to children who thought we were adults, but were only just beginning.........LOVE the umbilical cord regrowing itself. We all somehow grow ourselves up.

said...

"my tenderest openings undone"

I love that.

Grace said...

These lines are lovely:

my tenderest openings undone.

None of us is truly finished.

Amaya Engleking said...

I like how this contrasts the poem I put up tonight, exploring the theme of when to say, "It is finished." I think there is truth to both perspectives.

Kim Russell said...

I can so identify with this poem!

Frank Hubeny said...

I liked the description of the father "barely old enough to shave".

brudberg said...

I love it... I can almost feel coming out half-baked and maturing later... Sometimes i imagine remember that moment a few years later.

Vivian Zems said...

I think this is so beautiful. I have no favourite bits, I adored it all!
We, also were young people having kids.... so it resonates with me.

Rommy said...

What strikes me is how the parents are also portrayed as young and vulnerable. There truly is no one moment you can point to and say, "Here is where we have truly stopped growing." So yes, how can something without an ending have a happy one?

Sioux Roslawski said...

MZ--This is one of those hold-your-breath-it's-so-beautiful poems.

Gosh.

Yvonne Osborne said...

Nice.