Listen. There is something I need to tell you. And when I'm done there is no guarantee this will still be true, but for now these are the only words I know. Before I was born I was water. And when she was alone, when all was silent, we would ease into a stillness. Sometimes, there was a great and urgent conversation inside, beyond the thump of our hearts. The language was one I spoke but lost the night I dreamed of laughing and woke up flesh, blood, bones, hair--
breathing air instead of water.
2 comments:
This brought me right back to the birth of our most recent granddaughter, a month ago. We were there to see her start breathing air.
Angel, you suck.
but love the poem.
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