The Arrival

I like feminine allusion and metaphor and such. Women fascinate me so

The Arrival

I feel that my mind is pregnant…that my due date is near and I must prepare.

I must find a quiet place and sit…and just sit.

I must prepare for birthing, for the arrival of my offspring.

And it will be beautiful.

Like the woman of the wood who waits, in shack, amongst other women…

who waits for new life.

I too should prepare for at any moment I will be more than the sum of my parts.

My womb…my thought, the chamber of my discontent.

My canal…my pen, more ancient than any conception of myself.

My crib…the paper that bears witness and must carry and present the burden

Of my heart and the excrement of my soul.

If I am the progenitor than you must be the carrier of untold burdens.

 

I am with word and soon it shall come.

And as my body embraces its own lethargy, the remnant of a thousand hearts beats more furiously than aboriginal drum.

Furious and loud.

On the thousandth beat an explosion that makes Krakatoa’s tirade seem mute

roars through the night.

My precious, precious baby you have arrived.

My iniquities and poor, poor concepts of self have found reversal in you.

You will mature and be better than I could ever be.

You will surpass me for your greatness knows no limits in the sanctity of your

infantile ignorance.

I will nurture you and you will bathe in glory.

I will fill the tub so that you may soak in infinity.

Welcome to our world…you may do with it as you please.

In your arrival we have both found new life.