inspired by walking on alligators book
by Kara LC Jones
Bound
to the strings striped
around me, umbilical cords
I did not want to cut,
umbilical cords
that did not do the job.
Stripes of the cord
wound around
and around
and around
till my first son
strangled to death
in the womb.
Another wound stripe
marks my body
from the c-section
where I birthed him.
Cord
of my second son,
also born dead,
wound too short,
upside down,
placenta came first,
ripped from cord,
nothing at the end
of his lifeline
but death.
Can I wear my Wound Stripes
proudly as mothers of the living
wear their badges?
I often see the unseen.
Kindreds.
Wounded.
Familiar Scars.
Familial Scars.
Scars telling who they really are.
Badges others pretend
not to see because
seeing would mean facing their own wounds,
their own mortality.
Most do not want to be made to do that.
So we Striped Mothers
walk around, present everywhere,
numbers of us alarmingly higher
than you’d like to know.
We are naming our wounds.
You might be afraid,
but Death Chicks are not afraid.
We have nothing more to lose.
I have nothing more to lose.
So why not be an agent of the revolt.
I rise up from the bounds that silenced me.
I rise up to show Death’s reality.
I wear my Wound Stripes proudly.
Wound round me
the same way living mothers
papoose their babies, too.
:::
Incredibly powerful poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing here with us all.
Remembering Dakota and Mizuko.
xo
Powerful indeed. Remembering your boys.
ReplyDeleteThank you much, Hope's Mama and Virginia! Miracles, k-
ReplyDelete