Thursday December 10, 2009

from Sketches of Home, by Suzanne Clark

“Impossible Child,” pp 27-28

 

Sublime. This is my word for the incarnation taking place. I am regal, sobered with the knowledge that deep in my body is a microscopic child, sacred and beloved. I float.

 

Obstetrics

Tomorrow they will tell me what I know.

After tools and taps they will talk in facts

Of mystery, of the flame in so dark

a place you want to look and see God

shaping the hands and face.

They will call it by other names

but I will be hearing

blood and bones sliding in place

to music steep as stars.

 

I am in a dream

while the doctor feels clay

and schedules birth on a chart unreal.

As the earthen womb sings,

making its pearl,

I allow everything:

quake of birth that will leave the poem

of dust in my mouth.

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