Saturday, February 2, 2013

Day 2: Birth

My mother tells be I was born
during her doctors 45 minute lunch break
That I slid out of her
Like the world had been calling for too long
My body
Unwilling to be held within her safest embrace any longer
She said
They named me
A song
That would fear nothing but the end of its voice
Nothing but silence
And the absence of language
And breath
That would fear
Only its nothingness

She said
I was born
In 45 minutes
And became
Fully person
woman and hers

I remember birth differently
I remember the 5 year old version of myself being told and believing the story of my own desecration
How my penis
Had been severed by a team of doctors
That my mother
So disgusted by the coming of me
Strong and male like
Took a knife to my body
To have me made whole
I remember feeling missing
And the phantom itch of a appendage
Iʻd never explored
How the story
And believing it
Made me paper like
An origami sculpture
Waiting to become masterpiece
At someone else’s hand
And imagination

I remember my first period
At 16 and how it was the first true indication that the story
I couldn’t shake from skull
Was nothing more than imagination
And sculpture
That I was woman and
Would die this way
Having never fully known the itch of manhood
The way I imagined

 And this is why I remember birth differently
As less of the sliding from my mother body
Less of being of woman
And of her
And more of the 24 hours spent contorted on a garage couch
The sting of become a image of my own creation
I remember birth
As giving my body to canvas
As the minutes
All 1440 of them turned
Spent becoming a masterpiece
How owning my body
Was turning my skin into vision
And becoming woman meant
Refusing the restrictions of traditions that would refuse me this honor
Of this mark
Of being able to hold story in ink
On skin

Birth was the hour I spent weeping in from of my bathroom mirror naked
the morning I awake to find my tattoo completed
no longer a work of art
but a work of body
and wholly mine
in both imagination and form
was tracing the phases of moon on my pelvis
and remembering that womanhood is not the absence of a phantom itch
it’s the fullness of expression and the courage to have all dreams actualized
was the moment I realized that my body
was full expression and a courageous dream realized
birth was 24 hours
spanning in 22 years
a woman’s body
her own

No comments:

Post a Comment