BIRTH

BIRTH

The caustic odor of birth slides in mystery colors:
How these fluids—blood and water
Mimic the sea,
Flow and assault the nostrils

The mother sees her child in rose, azure,
Pale jade, crimson, midnight.
Her breasts surge defining empathy.
Her mind is presence of all colors.

This pungence pervades at all
Birth,
Thick, acrid,
Smearing the scent of creation
And the spectrum of pride
Across time’s nostrils.

Afterward, she thinks of before.
How they are alike:
Birth and creation.

Racking spasms,
Tumbling intensity,
The panting breath that scrapes the lungs.
The acute moment.
The crying out.
The drastic delight.
The extreme crush of colors
And the forceful odor of creation.

Zara Altair