My mother was a 35-year-old dancer married to her third husband and she longed for a daughter. I am her only child.

Begin, begin, resist, persist

Some births are gentle and smooth

Not mine.

A tremulous embrace of two hearts

engaged in a dangerous voyage.

These threads will forever bind us.


My mother labors to produce her wish

Unable to come out

I am stuck

I am transverse.



Remaining in transition

a limbo of pain and uncertainty.

Yes, I crossed my mother in her womb.


How weary you must have been.

You, my mother, the dancer

body trained, hard muscles bound

Not a soft woman of the house

Proud…  and quite brave.

Who will grant us a reprieve for such stretched love?

A difficult beginning / prophecy of future grief

later, I will have much to forgive.

Begin, persit, resist, resist

Some births are rough and long. As was mine.


The fourth day…the 84th hour

I continue to choose….the comfort of her womb.

A hand reaches deep inside in my mother… …

insists, turns my head down and sternly guides me out.