Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Merger (poem)

You came from my body, that
much of the mystery is known. Not
sliding into life atwist on umbilical,
but irrupting, bit by gory bit.

I blinked and your startled eyes
fell into my palm. Against my thighs
I found gristly little limbs, totemic,
clinging to me like flotsam.

That night I drank dark Jamaican
rum and dreamed of a Botticelli
cherub in a palm tree. By morning
I vomited your beating black heart.

In my bath, gelatinous orchids floated,
your tiny pink and purple organs swam
like jellyfish. I fished your squalling
mouth from the yawing toilet.

Tiny bones shed from me like fossilized
acacia blooms. I gathered parts: coils of hair,
bone, sinew, flesh and sat upon the pile,
a dinosaur seeding an obscure genus.

But your fragments wriggled from me,
scattered in a frenzy of obstinance. Shitting,
screaming, slobbering, refusing to be whole.
Apathetic ears floated in the oatmeal.

You grew in your own way, disassembled parts
like tinker toys, seeking glue pots, sewing kits.
I opened my door, deciding to set you free, but
silver threads, spider-web strong, blocked the way.

They shimmered in filigreed knots, floated down
from darkness, riding on moonlight, a macramé
of mystical integrations. I held you close, grasped
silky strands and fashioned a lariat to hold us tight.

As if a spool, I wound the glitter around and about,
cocooning our form in chrysalis. Hearts slowed
until they beat as one, until mind and matter, soul
and deed merged. And then you birthed me.

I wrote this years ago as a bit of a prose poem, but it has changed over the years. This is the last version of it. I don't have children of my own, so I think the genesis of it was that I, (the product of an unhappy childhood,) ultimately birthed myself. Self actualization gone a little mad. :-)