Birth

Birth.



Legs and arms primitively jolt in all directions.

Two bodies intertwined via a maternal connection.


Tufts of hair randomly elevated above a glistening scalp.

A speechless room saturated in compassionate but customary doubts.


Squinted eyes adjust to the intrusive artificial light.

An assortment of ardent illustrations vaguely in sight.


A protruding belly with a crimson chord attached.

Conserved  in an amniotic egg instinctively waiting to be hatched


Premature shrills depart from a pair of virginal lungs.

A new unsolicited, unwritten autobiography has just begun


To unfold into an eventful and noteworthy tale.

A story of anguish but joyous relationships that set sail


And capsize within the shortest interval of time.

For you to leave this corporeal realm without any sign


Or indication but only theories of what will happen after.

Stout heads occupied with dreams of a fabled and fanciful pasture.


Eternally existing on an alternative astronomical domain.

Hoping that the ones you left behind will never forget your name.



Kela lewis-morin