creative writing
Unborn one:
your mother am I,
your fate.
My wildest joy I give you.
From me you drink
the imminence
of night.
Though I forget you quickening
like last year’s pumpkin seed in compost,
the body’s inevitable love
is enough.
You are the unfamiliar
heat surging in my veins, you are the
churning, turning.
I am the villus, heartbeat, bone
in which you root.
My body wends an ancient path of blind
wise love, gestating you:
baby rocked
in primordial bloods of my love
black uterine seas of my love
holy blood of my love
for you.
1990
