A Child on Childbirth

A Child on Childbirth

A Poem by zoophagous
"

This is a non-traditional ghazal about how I sometimes feel as a child, combined with a maternal instinct and pressures to one day be a mother.

"

Shakespeare's kingdom mapped in torrid semen. To be

my womb, the dregs of arid wine.


An unborn generation of flesh 

masked. As the grazed faces on a foreign coin. 


My ovaries in uniform and disease

stroke her and she'll smile.


Moths carved tunnels from the inside-out.

Mon f�"tus; sewn up with silk-worm tongues.


A childless feminist is a true feminist. Her womb a martyr.

A cherry tree is not a true tree.


She collects pictures of our mothers

with swollen bellies. I am ignorant in a passenger jet.


"Here lies beloved Geoffrey Blake, age 72 upon departure.

And here, his son, Lysander, who reached death before life."


Her rosebush dead-headed -secateurs dipped in Loestrin* 20- in favour of sensibility.

And a precognition of footsteps on the staircase. They never came.

© 2012 zoophagous


Author's Note

zoophagous
Just want to point out that I am not going to become a mother any time soon -or even possibly, at all- just because I sometimes feel maternal and empty. This poem is the side about wanting a child but still being a child, not the strong views I have on, personally, not wanting a child.

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Added on July 15, 2012
Last Updated on July 15, 2012
Tags: motherhood, childhood, confusion, love, maternal, children, babies, infants, abortion