Posted by: beansai | August 12, 2007

The First Life

Lazy heat of summer days
induces naps in the mid-
afternoon: on the couch,
a bed (still made), or even
the floor where the cooler
air nestles cozy between wiry
carpet fibers and the oppressive
day’s warmth.

    Lulled into a hazy sleep
on the floor, in the hall where there are
no windows to let in angry rays; it acts
as a breezeway from one bedroom
to another that only have a screen filtering
the seared bugs from the pitiful draft. This
    is where I dream:

                Daylight streams in across
        my face and I rustle the bed sheet away
        from between cramped legs. Despite the layer
        of separation, my legs are thick and moist
        as though they had been resting skin
        on skin. I struggle to roll from my right
        side to my back, but when I do, a large lump
        of stomach blocks my view.

                Somehow, I don’t remember
        consenting to this condition, though I carry
        an extra heartbeat I have long desired. The last
        tendrils of sleep are fading from my bemused
        mind, but the belly does not shrink
        with them.

                Reaching out a tentative hand (it shakes
        only slightly), I touch the distension and confirm
        that it belongs to me. Thoughts of elation mingle
        with those of panic: how many more weeks?
        Am I ready in every way? How…
        how and when did this happen?
But I just give
        a small twitch of shoulders and let the confusion
        pass.

                The heftiness of my middle presses
        down on every organ that is vital to both
        of us. Now I comprehend why I slept
        naturally on my hip, shoulder, and ear. I regress
        to that position and immediately breathe
        easier. I cradle the stretched tissue encasement
        of my womb that houses my perpetuated
        life between soft sweaty hands, swollen
        with pregnant weight. Again the day’s insufferable
        heat carries me back to a fitful sleep.

Waking, I struggle against a chill
that has invaded my body
and a murkiness that I can’t see beyond.
Swatting darkness from my eyes
I stare at my surroundings, finally
realizing I am back n the hall
on the carpet that has left divots
in my skin, plus and itchy irritation.

Once more I feel the vine of dreams
snake away, leaving me naked
in the emptiness that surrounds me.
Head lolling toward my breasts,
I place a thin gray hand on my mid-
drift and feel its flat firmness.

I spring a leak from the corners
of each eye and cannot seem to find
the lever that will shut the briney water off.
    I have dreamt again of what
        I can never have.
Digging uneven nails into the fleshy
chasm where my uterus should have been,
I curse the genetics that gaveme faulty
wiring and I despise the doctors
that labored so hard to save me after
I lost the first life.

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Responses

  1. I think I like the original formatting better. It took me a few times to read this over. Interesting how the formatting of a poem really does change things.

    *Please excuse my poetic ignorance. šŸ˜‰

  2. Hehe. Yeah, I was frustrated with the fact that I did have to compromise, but what is a girl to do. I’ll have to continue trying out other programs or blog sites and see if any of those work better for me…or I could just continue with dA….

  3. There! Now that I have some of my minimal html skills down, this poem is back to it’s original formatting that I wanted it to have all along. Woohoo! šŸ™‚


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