Waiting to be Born


In a time before time, before sun, before night and day

Mind­less drift­ing flot­sam in a nar­row amni­otic sea

With only the steady metro­nomic thud for company

A depth-sounding echo calls from an unimag­ined world.

Just being. This slow med­i­ta­tive dance has left in me

Ter­ror of small places, cramped spaces, the thought of mines.

I can­not imag­ine what pre­his­toric urge dri­ves men

To put on rub­ber suits and inves­ti­gate tight potholes.

-

There was noth­ing to see, but what was inside my head

And inside my head there was nothing.

Wait­ing in a dark som­nam­bu­list trance of evolution

A dot divid­ing, trans­mut­ing, gilled, rep­tile, finally

Mam­mal. Mamma mean­ing — inti­mate beyond comfort -

Breasts. I was a stranger to my mother and she to me

The thought of start­ing life as an alien invasion

Lay­ing siege to her belly, still makes me squirm.

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