We're just kind of read through this, OK.
Here goes another birth poem.
Beatrice on the bed, muscles twitch pain.
No, the pain.
Marsha offers warm, wet towel.
No, no, it's too painful.
Beatrice paces bedroom cross corn planting blanket barefoot
through rows of corn dancers caressing
abdomen, deep breathing.
Lips expel flurries of pain while her fingers circle
belly trying to ease pain in a tub of warm water.
No, Beatrice rises, Oh, Oh, pulls my hands into hers.
We stand together in bathroom window to her back,
silhouettes her soft curves of hips and shoulders
to a dark shadow sunlight smolders off of.
She radiates light streams.
Her face grimaces intense pain and pleasure.
Her head lulls forward and long black hair falls over my face
as I kneel before her on the bathroom floor.
Prop your right leg up Beatrice on the toilet seat.
That's it now, push, push.
Through vines of her hair I peer between her spread legs,
blinding light streams through.
Our bodies connected by hair create a cave dwelling
of flesh.
She mutters grunted please aggressive
throaty squeals, grips my shoulders, her warm breath
pants at my head, sweat drips from her onto me.
And then enraging strobe of sunlight between her legs
from wild roses and green vines pressed against window
at her back, she gives half choked sob
and upside down suspended between her legs surfacing
from sunlight leaves and flowers,
the 1,000 year old face appears Gabriel.
Flying dark shape in sunlight, God descending from Sky
between women's legs.
Arms and face glisten darkly with uterine juices,
shimmery body fluids in wriggles free of mother skin,
fierce glum Godhead stone face.
I stare at through vines of hair and stark eyes squint
flitted open wide and haunting ferocity at me.
And instantly I am tossed, flung from my body
into a ferris wheel of lights, disembodied and sheer blaze
of dazzling waves of light instantaneously hurled
into timeless space out of my body like a spark
from a chimney flue at Winter don floating up an updraft.
Then I'm holding a wrinkled brown baby filled me
with juice, thick rivulets of blood run down our hands, arms,
wrists.
Gabriel slips from her trembling loins into my hands,
cries angrily at me.
And I rise in the glowing sunlight blue misted bathroom
brush through vines of hair, offer Gabriel child of the sun
to Beatrice, and then look at the window and bow.