Uninhibited Birth

For Sarita

You promised me 

nothing;

only that the babe would come out.

You offered me

a quiet, dark place, warm water, your hands,

"uninhibited birth", you called it;

and it's not pretty,

but it is beautiful.

What do I call this thing?

It was war, and I still don't know if I survived it.

I did, but I didn't--

On my knees, blood spilling into water,

body heaving as I cry out, begging

for peace, death, anything but this pain!

You kneel down and hold my hand, steady

surrender, you say, remember a part must die

so the Mother may be born.

Dig deeper, you say, handing me the shovel.

You, yourself ushered in the Death Crone, stood guard

as she hovered in lights dimmed

so she'd not pass entirely unnoticed.

In giving birth women are saved, you say

as I fight to give more than I am willing,

more than I know I have or how to,

your hands, steady on my back,

the pain taking too much, I struggle-

Your face burns still in my mind,

Mother, unyielding,

Dig deeper, you said, to where you've never been,

and let it go.

The Vision Quest (the little death), the Marathon, the Mountain

are nothing

In giving birth, women are saved from themselves,

a selfish, futile existence.

Midwife, you gave me safe passage, more

than the babe I hold in arms:

You promised me nothing

and delivered me of myself,

the spirit of the Mother born in me,

of you, of the lineage.

Ruth Ann Colby Martin

November 2005