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Poetry | July 2011

Birthday

By Beth Brezenoff

What would have been perfect that day: a full sky of mammati.
Instead, as we headed west to the hospital, me pressing pain from my body,

the sky was cloudless, and clear. A haze grew around the seven o’clock sun.
Hot August, bursting with ripeness, harvesting, like my body:

a little fish, then a flippant bird, then the small slippery creature
who swam, spun, squirmed in my body.

Then bursting water, bursting blood, stars of pain, pressing pain, clenching pain,
then a baby, from my body–

thirsty nursling.
Milk bloomed on my body.

A year later, a maple seed spun into our front lawn is pressed stickily to my palm.
You grew, little visitor, said Mama–a question–then crawled away from my body.

2 replies on “Birthday”

Janicesays:
July 9, 2011 at 5:50 am

I think there are too many metaphors in this. Hard to follow.

Reply
rebekahsays:
July 18, 2011 at 10:07 am

i like “thirsty nursling”, and the last line especially… powerful description of how it feels to have a child growing up, growing away from you. vivid poem.

Reply

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