Postpartum

I am flattened
By the birth of my second child.
Before she sparked in my womb
I stood tall
And strong.
The world was on my terms
And I a woman of passion
Not to mention
Of means.

Now I see myself
In my new
Vulnerability.
Panic fluttering in my heart
As she nurses at the breast.
Echoing over and over again
A fool
I put my safety in something
That did not exist
Does not exist
If it ever did.

Did my great-grandmother
Feel like this?
Did she roll up her sleeves
And get on with it?
I know that she did.
They tell me of it.
It didn't have to be me
We women have more options
Than we did before.

And yet still I am still rendered immobile and weak.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

I think that all women deserve to be believed. since for men childbirth is like spaceflight where everthing is pressurized and that which isn't, isn't the mise-en-scene of poetry anyways.
they tell me that my grandmother was a healer. which means she poured libations on the walls of the room where people came to be overheard. I assume that postpartum was a condition like depression or estrus that women didn't dare speak about in those days anyways:

"Now I see myself
in my new
Vulnerability"

Which is a confessional presoaking of the wounded.
In other words, women can cry out other than in their proper time and place..........great poetry write/ dana