I wrote about this before, quite differently, here.


This is one of the few photos of me when little, there are no baby photos.

Of course,
 I do not remember
 being born.
 But that moment
 lies in the marrow of my bones.

 A time
 when doctors feared the sound
 of struggle
 and my mother
 lay in chloroform unknowing.

 My face
 trapped by forceps
 listened looked
 for voice and face,
 alone away from drumming throbbing space.

 Of course
 I do not remember
 missing her.
 I remember
 the crown of my son. His head turning to my joy.

 rose unbidden.
 My mother
 Learner of love,
 never knew that miracle, the crowning glory.
Crying: Hey, it’s me! I’m here!


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