Drops of sorrow drip down my face

They seem a steady stream

of war, of pain, of fear, of tides turning

Seas churning, storms brewing

My body braces

She knows what is coming

inevitable, growing pains.

They cannot shall not stop

For if they would it could mean death

No it must come forth

This new vision

This new “nation”

This new life.

I groan. Primal. Earthy.

I gather those closest, those trusted.

Those who can be with you in the raw

The clothes off

Grunts and profanities

of unmedicated birth.

What is this force inside me doing

what my body must

and I can fight it or willingly

dance and work together

to bring her forth?

But can’t it come another way?

Must it be?

I breathe. I rise.

I sway. I squat.

No I am made for this.

I listen

She speaks.

My body is wise.

She teaches me. She is my guide.

My mothers. My midwives.

My goddess, my guide.

They will not.

Could not.

Leave my side.

We gather. We sway.

We wait. We watch.

We prepare. she’s coming. She’s near.

3.1.26