Poetic Labor
Sitting here waiting…
fogged brain—like an anxious
womb craving impregnation of
creativity—pleading the inner
genius thereof, to usher in the labor
that issues the birth of the long
awaited poem.
It’s soon painfully realized that poetry
is nature and nature is poetry—deciding
when and where the midwife of revelations
will be called to delivery.
The crisis of unawareness cured—awareness—
I now cheerfully labor in tender contemplation; the
Spirit of nature’s midwife soothing my suffering with
The coming joy of the birth of motherhood.
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