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Poetry

Posthumous birth

 

 

Sarah Amsler
July 27, 2006
iranian.com

On the need for a small coffin for a child born to a woman killed in an Israeli missile attack on southern Lebanon, July 2006.

A bloody, miraculous invasion and I clotted.
Inception with no memory,
in silence I began my journey,
secreted even from myself, separating from myself,
becoming myself, drop by drop,
heart beating wildly at the very start,
racing desperately towards life.
I sounded like the hooves of hoards.
Touch from the beyond, cadences of music,
a second heartbeat my eternal lullaby,
I kicked in rhythm, weightless in the warmth,
toes, fingers exploring my tongue, free, pure,
eyes open to darkness, ears tuned
to that one voice, the music, the gentle rocking /
which aborts with a blast
the voice contorts, cacophony, light, pain
as my fingers shear from my gums
my lullaby is silent, I strain to rehear.
Perhaps this is my moment, the beginning,
perhaps this is life.
I see the first light of the world,
ripped from my womb, my tomb,
I gasp my first breath
and clotting
I die.

July 23, 2006


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