Ode to a Womb's End
I began as a seed
an egg, growing inside
a place of moist darkness
a place I imagine to have been
a deep red
streaked with blues
there was a pulse, a warmth, a wetness
inside I was cushioned
sounds muted
connected to her, as still I am
but more
how strange then
to have that place, the origin,
the first home, turn
on the one who housed it
how strange that once turned
it must leave, be cut away
the source becoming a hindrance
becoming instead a source of pain and torment
its inherent power shadowed by its betrayal
now an empty spot remains
done with it its primary purpose
what will fill it up?
it is a space of freedom
a space of work well done
it is a space only for her
I see a flower unfurling
petals of the palest pink
slowly opening
they are filled with light
and quiver
with the pulse of
regeneration
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