EMBALMING WOMB
Omnibeing dreams…
A pool of blood her bed, arms floating limpness, her flesh too consumed to feel her trembling soul, a cold dark room, hundreds of miles from home, a pool of her blood indiscernible from the blood of another; cruelties, that her mother had abandoned her when merely a child, and now too her own child had abandon her; left her in a pool of thickening blood, now her cleansing bath, drifting into swirling torments, abandoned by her child’s denial to be born into her nesting arms, denying suckling her yearning bosom.
Years pass…
…another child to born her womb, glorious miracle, but trembling repetitious fate that abruptly aborted her first born is born yet again; and she feels and touches blood, she is aware of the meaning of blood, but neglects it; her faith thinking, clinging to her dead within her embalming womb; clinging, not to be herself accused of the abandonment that she suffered when, as a child, her mother died. Supplications in silence, that the dead come back to the living, supplications in her silent prayers, the steel of the night creeps, moving away within but can’t, supplications, grave mother’s shoulder allowing her daughter’s tears to crater the earth, a day of tears eroding her soul; calamity breathes well and brandishes a thousand years to live. Purging agonies with painkillers, she is an experienced hemorrhager, dilating her essence, releasing her life gripping clamps, allowing mother earth to absorb her still born, gripping moments, blessing earth mother to drink her child a shrine.
Surreptitiously, behind the black wall universe that is invisible because it is infested with infinitesimal little holes, mother’s soul breathes exculpation, “I never left you, I was mortally wounded but I never left you.” Her path lighted by beautiful daughter’s longings; stringing fabrics from universe, knotting with her precious long fingers, urging with boils caused by a universe that is so huge that it makes everything that composes it small, for what boils in the universe is the absence of friction, our inalienable distance from each other, absence from her child, and the fear that her child, missing mutual friction, is feeling deserted boils her loyalties and boils the universe; and boiling mother weaves a net to trap life’s essence so as to rejoin with her despairing daughter; once she tried, twice she tried, in both daughter miscarried mother.
The earth is mute to spiritual mother’s cries, the universe a hostage listener to her gentle sufferings, “I never left you my child, I am still trying to reach again your company and warmth my dear daughter, nearer to your heart. Oh but I have felt your pulse, I have drank your blood, twice, twice no less, as once you drank mine. I am sworn to disobedience and manifests to break universal law, that a child may not born her mother. I never left you. I weave, tempting all agonies, to return to thee my child, but every plan works right up to its beginnings.”
A pool of blood her bed, arms floating limpness, her flesh too consumed to feel her trembling soul, a cold dark room, hundreds of miles from home, a pool of her blood indiscernible from the blood of another; cruelties, that her mother had abandoned her when merely a child, and now too her own child had abandon her; left her in a pool of thickening blood, now her cleansing bath, drifting into swirling torments, abandoned by her child’s denial to be born into her nesting arms, denying suckling her yearning bosom.
Years pass…
…another child to born her womb, glorious miracle, but trembling repetitious fate that abruptly aborted her first born is born yet again; and she feels and touches blood, she is aware of the meaning of blood, but neglects it; her faith thinking, clinging to her dead within her embalming womb; clinging, not to be herself accused of the abandonment that she suffered when, as a child, her mother died. Supplications in silence, that the dead come back to the living, supplications in her silent prayers, the steel of the night creeps, moving away within but can’t, supplications, grave mother’s shoulder allowing her daughter’s tears to crater the earth, a day of tears eroding her soul; calamity breathes well and brandishes a thousand years to live. Purging agonies with painkillers, she is an experienced hemorrhager, dilating her essence, releasing her life gripping clamps, allowing mother earth to absorb her still born, gripping moments, blessing earth mother to drink her child a shrine.
Surreptitiously, behind the black wall universe that is invisible because it is infested with infinitesimal little holes, mother’s soul breathes exculpation, “I never left you, I was mortally wounded but I never left you.” Her path lighted by beautiful daughter’s longings; stringing fabrics from universe, knotting with her precious long fingers, urging with boils caused by a universe that is so huge that it makes everything that composes it small, for what boils in the universe is the absence of friction, our inalienable distance from each other, absence from her child, and the fear that her child, missing mutual friction, is feeling deserted boils her loyalties and boils the universe; and boiling mother weaves a net to trap life’s essence so as to rejoin with her despairing daughter; once she tried, twice she tried, in both daughter miscarried mother.
The earth is mute to spiritual mother’s cries, the universe a hostage listener to her gentle sufferings, “I never left you my child, I am still trying to reach again your company and warmth my dear daughter, nearer to your heart. Oh but I have felt your pulse, I have drank your blood, twice, twice no less, as once you drank mine. I am sworn to disobedience and manifests to break universal law, that a child may not born her mother. I never left you. I weave, tempting all agonies, to return to thee my child, but every plan works right up to its beginnings.”
posted by Ricardo Correa at 8/31/2006 11:23:00 AM
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