Revised Poem: Being Born

An older poem revised so much that I consider it new. I have been told I ask too many questions. I just consider it part of my voice. The question is as valid a literary device as any other. Whitman would make lists and lists of items, I make lists of questions. They are my questions to ask. Plus, we all ask big questions and some of them do not have answers. So, this is a short poem, with big questions. Enjoy and let me know what you think!


Being Born

In my mother’s womb, In that
Dark, swollen corner where
Miracles happen that we will
Never fully understand,
I rested nine months and grew.

Surrounded by the warmth
Of her waters, covered with
Ripples of her heart, soothed
By her soft, dulcet voice,
My little ears immersed
Into an echo of peace and
Infinity. In her womb
There was no time, no past,
Present or future, only one
Steady presence of life.

When did my quickening come?
Hours before I emerged
From that watery eternity?
When did I realize there was
A forward, a future, a something
To come? Did I realize there,
Before my first breath that I
Was moving, that there was motion,
Perhaps a tiny sense of time?

As my mother’s body and mine
Stirred, the quiet waters
Began to race and ripple,
Pulsating speeding hearts.
In the violent contractions,
The Pressure and the pushing,
What did my womb mind
Understand, at that moment?
Did I first know fear on
That day eternity changed?
Did I first know anticipation?
Was this my first experience at
Ambiguous, unknowable emotion?

Did I hear the voice of God or an angel
Whisper “There Child, It Is Time”.

© 2004/2012 Sandra E. Walton

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