Birth Doorways

Black hospital pitch room
Four minutes apart. Moaning inward and out. Half cat nap recliner and sweater.

My foot

thumps awake with sudden vigor.

Fragment recovers in comfort and placement. In time,

for getting up and mirroring the sound

of creation softening bones,
chest cracked back
into place

Now I sit in time

out of time,
with holy breath informing this flesh

next to me of woman and fairy dust feet
The pulse of trust and touch
and this tiny being inside with a heart so fast and light - full on

the monitor in the background speaking in rhythm

to guide our way

My foot thumps upward as doors swing open so

wide and soul fragments waiting to come home rush

back

In 45 minutes its enough for them

to find me, find Home.

There is poetry in forgetfulness
in the
slippery sleep of books closed without the scant scent
nostalgic old paper smell wafting
through the cracks of every dream
through the corners of every waking scene

in faces undreamed
skin responsibly drops the ball in the middle
of the game thinks
outer heart
inner hidden forces hand to release but
can't wade through the mud to outer heart
(this) persistent personality (the)
tangled mommy daddy that
these faces fading oh so perfectly were,
are, will not be as

balls unwind and yarn is caught
in the paws of cats pouncing this
low purr of thought-erasing

"You will never figure it out. You cannot untangle it. Stop thinking! You must throw it in Baba's ocean. Throw it!" ~Eruch Jessawala