Born

What is it to be born?

To be born.
Born, as in, 
existing as a result of birth

Origin:
From Old English boren, past participle, as in: to bear.

How much can we bear?

20-35 extra pounds, distributed between baby, belly, breasts, blood.

A defined curve in the spine to accommodate the extra weight.

Swollen feet, pinched nerves, bones slowly spreading away from one another.

Curse of Eve, is this what we bear?

She said it feels like a bowling ball of light passing through your pelvis
a hot iron weight covered in spikes cutting its way through you
she thought she was going to die
she thought she was going to tear open

if not for the hot compresses of her midwife.

She awoke and didn't know where she was.
She said she reached a moment of acceptance.
She said it all went away when he came out.

What is that we bear?

The weight of stories passed through generations.
The dreams of our mothers
bruises
from fathers, husbands, lovers
She said,
do you know what puta means? 
She said,
The only reason I'm still fighting is for my baby.

Weight gain varies in pregnancy.

To be born,
as in by another,
as in to be carried.

All these 40 weeks.
All these 280 days.
All these 280 nights.

Inside, the kick of toes against rib bones, gentle beat of hiccups,
delicate exchange of gases and nutrients.
She said, I think he dances sometimes.
Before you were born, you were known.

Before you were born,
we counted your heartbeats.
Like a wineglass against a wall,
we tried to listen to your secret world.
Did you know your parents smiled
to hear you,
your big brother, sister, so proud
just to touch your small baby head.
Before you were born, you were wanted.

To be born,
as in to be born through,
as in to move.

How is it that you know so well how to be born?
Through this darkened tunnel
this squeezing maze of changing bones.
What map do you bear?
What knowledge older than words, older than time?

These are the cardinal movements of babies.

Engagement, descent, flexion, internal rotation,

extension, restitution, external rotation, expulsion

Cardinal:
a leading dignitary in the Catholic church
a new world songbird
of the greatest importance, fundamental.

We wait to know you.
For so long we have dreamed of you.
Yes, us, even us, who have hugged the curves of your body
balloted your tender, forming bones. 
Who are you?
You who has come so far to begin anew.

Born as in
to bear
like, witness.

Out of the desert, picked out of the high heat by birds our animal cells don't know and into former forests, all metal and wood, cities bigger than me but lush so lush. There...there were your arms and mine and, inside, I felt something coming together again.

You love something more when it's parts of you. Maybe it's because I was there when she was born. Or maybe it's because she came from my sister who I will love until both our bodies turn into roots and dirt. Or maybe it's because I'm supposed to love her and watch as my genes stretch on for generations. Or maybe it's because I get to love her, because through her mother, we both know each other. But this is a joy I have never known before. To love and be loved is the source of all healing.

In the old growth forest, rain falls on my face. Ferns tickle the palms of my hands and the bark of giants bears my weight. I try and open my belly up, my heart, liver, womb, soulself open to the cool and wet. Let it lick the dry places of me till I drip again with life. Water feels different here. Water feels different to me after the desert.

When I first moved here, almost a year ago now, I went to a lake with friends. This was water men had made. Years ago, they moved and stopped a river so that it would pour into and be held by this dry earth. We set up tents and built a small fire and looked at the stars with one another. Come daylight, the earth began to heat up and the sun to beat down and I ran to the water. It was cool and sweet as it embraced me. I had been looking for this, I realized. Strange to move from a place which lives inside a cloud most of the time, rainfall its very heart, to the desert and to here find the water I'd been looking for. Warm enough to swim, warm enough to disappear into, warm and wet enough to fall into weightlessness and freedom.

It was in me again. Enamored with an energy from inside me again. I didn't want to die. I wanted to keep breathing and follow these breaths down. I wanted to see the beauty along this path, see what grew in the footfalls of those that walked ahead of me, see what I could grow now with my own two hands.