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Crowning

07 Apr

When a woman’s eyes

roll wild in their sockets

like those of a frightened foal

when you look into her face

and see nothing

but raw animal instinct

stripped bare of all culture and pretense

look between her legs

and you will find her labia bulging

with the mound of new life

you will see the baby’s head crowning

a glistening, pulsing moon

fragile as a soft-boiled egg

wrinkled as a walnut.

But alas

while you are distracted

by the dramatic birth

of the baby

you will miss

time and again

the more subtle secret birth

that happens simultaneously.

You will miss

the birth of the mother

the death of the ego

and

the resurrection

of humanity.

 
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Posted by on April 7, 2012 in Birth Poems

 

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