Masked

"Masked"

The first time is the worst for everyone.
The sudden, shocking reality that it isn't
smooth and easy. A push,
a grab, slap, cry, bundle of blankets,
and radiant smiles.

You almost never hear about
the screaming, blood, and struggle to breathe.
Or that nearly everyone moves their bowels on the table.
No, instead it's all pictures afterward,
brushed hair and clean skin.

Once in awhile, though, sweating from the sheer work of it,
she'll hold your gaze. And you'll think
that if you wait just long enough,
you'll be able to see her
as beautiful as she was
in the moment that this all began.

* * *

Today's poem (based on "Blue) was meant to re-examine preconceptions about something. I interviewed my mother for a class with Mara about birth, and she said it was the single most intense experience of her life. She said that one of the most amazing things about it was the fact that you forgot about all the craziness of it and just remembered the good parts afterward. I've often wondered what it would be like to be an OB and experience all kinds of births and see women in an intimate and frankly, kind of gruesome way. I wonder what it would be like to imagine women nine (ten?) months before in a situation where they were obviously beautiful in some capacity. I feell pretty good about reexamining a preconception. About the last line as the strongest? Arguable, but I'm pretty content with it.

* * *

Tomorrow's poems. Adventures in Haiku. I'm trying for three.

Bush clover in blossom waves

Without spilling

A drop of dew.

-Basho

Hitch-hiked a thousand

miles and brought

you wine.

-Jack Kerouac

Sleep on horseback,

The far moon in a continuing dream,

Steam of roasting tea.

-Basho

The object? Lots of truth/emotion in very few words.

Thanks for reading.