I came out like someone had dusted my skin with turmeric,
the bow of my mouth carved into a rigid scream,
my eyes – two angry slits,
with the thick purple cord pulsating around my neck.
It was as if the Moirai started out my journey with
the filament stretched between their wrinkled fingers,
ready to cut me out like a malignant lymph node, but…
They laid me into his hands, where he stroked my cheek
with tobacco stained fingers.
I was less than an hour old,
barely enough in this world to be an aftertaste:
the slick slide of emotion down the throat that catches
like it suddenly turned to concrete at the tonsils
and the adhesion becomes so strong you can’t just swallow it down,
you have to cough it up,
admonish yourself for the sentimental hang-ups
that come with the territory of fatherhood.
And someone let that shining filament go,
loosened their grip,
and let me live.
© Laura A. Lord, 2015
I don’t know why this collection of words from MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie made me think back to my birth story, but they did. Perhaps baby thoughts are just on my mind. I’ve been working towards becoming a surrogate mother and so I’ve certainly been thinking about babies and births lately. Either way, a big thank you to MindLoveMisery for the wordle prompt that inspired me this morning.