Sleepy, heavy eyes
Over obligations that
Disappear into dampness
If approached too close-
Mattering to no one but
Myself, a mysterious
Determination that spews
Forth both the best and worst
Of me. I am a mid-wife at
My own birthing, my head
Caught breach in the birth
Canal. The next moment
Decides if black or white
Be the theme worn to a church's
Ritual sprinkling -
A glove reaches in, and a twist
Jerks me free. Now, take a
Breath that isn't tangled
In seaweed and ash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As I read, thought: America. More: NY. Maybe a so bright poet woman can be only from there. A comment could be: “It is as it was”; it is not mine, it was by a Pope of course about another setting. Ciao.