Poetic Labor

Sitting here waiting— fogged brain, like an anxious womb, craves impregnation of creativity— pleading the inner genius there of 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.