A Division Poem by Charlotte Ballard

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.