WEBVTT

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We're just kind of
read through this, OK.

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Here goes another birth poem.

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Beatrice on the bed,
muscles twitch pain.

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No, the pain.

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Marsha offers warm, wet towel.

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No, no, it's too painful.

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Beatrice paces bedroom cross
corn planting blanket barefoot

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through rows of corn
dancers caressing

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abdomen, deep breathing.

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Lips expel flurries of pain
while her fingers circle

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belly trying to ease pain
in a tub of warm water.

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No, Beatrice rises, Oh, Oh,
pulls my hands into hers.

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We stand together in
bathroom window to her back,

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silhouettes her soft curves
of hips and shoulders

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to a dark shadow
sunlight smolders off of.

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She radiates light streams.

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Her face grimaces intense
pain and pleasure.

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Her head lulls forward and long
black hair falls over my face

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as I kneel before her
on the bathroom floor.

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Prop your right leg up
Beatrice on the toilet seat.

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That's it now, push, push.

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Through vines of her hair I
peer between her spread legs,

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blinding light streams through.

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Our bodies connected by
hair create a cave dwelling

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of flesh.

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She mutters grunted
please aggressive

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throaty squeals, grips my
shoulders, her warm breath

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pants at my head, sweat
drips from her onto me.

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And then enraging strobe of
sunlight between her legs

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from wild roses and green
vines pressed against window

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at her back, she
gives half choked sob

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and upside down suspended
between her legs surfacing

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from sunlight
leaves and flowers,

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the 1,000 year old
face appears Gabriel.

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Flying dark shape in sunlight,
God descending from Sky

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between women's legs.

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Arms and face glisten
darkly with uterine juices,

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shimmery body fluids in
wriggles free of mother skin,

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fierce glum Godhead stone face.

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I stare at through vines of
hair and stark eyes squint

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flitted open wide and
haunting ferocity at me.

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And instantly I am
tossed, flung from my body

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into a ferris wheel of lights,
disembodied and sheer blaze

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of dazzling waves of light
instantaneously hurled

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into timeless space out
of my body like a spark

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from a chimney flue at Winter
don floating up an updraft.

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Then I'm holding a wrinkled
brown baby filled me

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with juice, thick rivulets of
blood run down our hands, arms,

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wrists.

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Gabriel slips from her
trembling loins into my hands,

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cries angrily at me.

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And I rise in the glowing
sunlight blue misted bathroom

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brush through vines of hair,
offer Gabriel child of the sun

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to Beatrice, and then look
at the window and bow.

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