Not yet born
A tribute to my mother as what me as a fetus would feel while I was being carried.
Life is in motion
Who carries me?
What is her name?
I feel where she lives!
Ten twists and three bumps and a boom.
I hear her breath.
Her heart feeds me.
I make her crazy.
I tell her to eat funny things!
I get her attention, I kick.
I get her attention, I stay still.
I hear voices, outside my soft walls.
My room floats around me.
Lying still yet I move.
I travel through muffled noises.
I feel her fear, her happiness.
When she is sad, I move.
That makes her happy.
It is time.
My room is getting smaller.
She wants me out.
Now I am afraid.
I’m pushed through the door.
Strange and bony cold walls hold me.
Noises overwhelm me.
This is new and scary.
My room evacuates me.
And spills down my body.
A new room occupies me.
It is cold, sharp and light.
I can only think about her.
I know her flesh.
As it is mine.
Alas.
I am in just outside my home.
In her arms.
She breathes upon my face.
I know her smell.
Everything is new.
I am forgetting.
What I knew.
About my life before I was born.
Yet somehow I know.
Someday I will remember.
Everybody is Not A Parent
Big brother Daph
When I was not yet born
MY MOTHER
She could remember every detail of everything that she ever saw or read and even more. She was a prolific reader, writer, artist and social magnet.
It was tough being her son, she was so intelligent and demanding. Just a little rubbed off onto me and it made me a superstar where ever I went.
Yet, she was a true mother with all of the grace of a nurse and the care of a sheppard. Her mind was always working on poetry full of color and hues of sentimental overtones.
Not a traditional stay home take care of me mother. She was an independant spirit with six children in tow. I know we were a burden to her creativity, but now we are a product of her craft. All six of her children carry her tallents to a degree or another.
WE ALL LOVE HER AS SHE IS THE VESSEL THAT BROUGHT US TO THIS WORLD.
