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The Interdisciplinary Work of Lyss England

Posts tagged birth

I’ve been listening to poetry
For hours trying to find
Something that feels as familiar
As you did the first time you
Introduced me to the static
Of this world that mid summer
Burning
Crimson
Red hot
Rose petal
True love
My mother
You were like a Friday evening
And I was Saturday morning
You looked at me like I was
The best choice you had ever made
So when I celebrate you on
This day I am tied to
With the roots of your arteries
On this harvest moon
I’ll hold you at the helm
Of the care that you gave me
While I hear the echo of your
Heeled shoes through the sound
Of the still static.

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there was a storm:
snow cascading from the clouds
the doctor
halted by the chaos
sat home by the fireplace
so I was delivered by a
stranger.
there was the cord:
connecting my mother and I
wrapped tightly
around my under-sized
neck, turning my face
blue, like I’d be for
years.
there was my grandmother:
on her own death bed
refusing to 
hold me or see me,
my mother’s daughter,
who took her name
Dorothy.
There is a matrilineal lineage:
and a traumatic birth,
a precursor
for an anxiety-induced
identity formed by
crisis.