My eyes are not what they once were, but
I can see you clearly whooshing from
your mother's womb, sluiced between thighs
the grunts, shouts and cries reverberating
eyes closed, arms slightly waving hello
or gesticulating indignation awakened
as life begins with cries of disbelief
already the first threshold crossed
suckled to your mother, pretty as she was
cradled into household tradition and...
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