Matrescence
Become mother, become room, become food,
become miracle. The heart of each devours
the other’s heart. Hurry—become faster. Barely
made myself, I knew what they said meant
my body was a door, made for someone else
to come through. Become sacrament.
The commandments I kept, the ones
I couldn’t keep—all practice before
this one. Become sacrosanct. In birth, the pain
is not like other pain. In birth, the pain is purpose
ful and anticipatory. Anticipate. Become vanishing
act. Become numb, shaved, cut, split, crazy with pain—
become bare beneath the wide washed
lights of medicine and angels—become everything
and so nothing, and no one, but a mother,
a miracle room, a heart in someone else’s mouth.