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.
Contrary
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.