Poetic aspirations

The birth.

 

The unseen hand pushes his small,

Malleable head,

The heel of a holy palm forcing

Divinity out of her rage,

Being swallowed by the night in

Desperate gulps.

The father holds her back as she strains

Red veins emptying towards the source,

Shaking knees and hands tangled;

For the love of God, just pull

It out, drag It out of her,

Let it be done!

From the stricken cunt comes forth

Blood and water and God,

Gasping,

Black eyes blinking lizard-like in

A wrinkled face,

As old as the world.

Thick cord stretching,

He struggles plaintively against that

Unusual tethering whilst his

Small lips and tongue first taste

Salty sweat from her heaving navel,

Her best gift, too bitter for

That child, who wails.

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