Katherine's Womb

She. She would be. She would be her third. She would slide into this world, warm, wet, screaming.

Oh Katherine. You never knew the cosy, pink pallets, the roses, your dreams. Or did you?

She. She would question your love. Your third. She wanted answers. Or? Understanding?

Oh, Katherine. No one held your hand the night the gun fell into your own mother's broken heart.

She. Your third, would pursue. Find whimsical love which haunted her, her dreams weren't me. Or?

Katherine. I loved you, your starched wisdom stowed behind stoic eyes was not in vain.

She. Will be eighty-one tomorrow. She birthed me alone, far from you. Blanketed in a winter's night, I woke early.

6:17 a. m. Susan Andrea was swaddled by strangers, then lay on your third's breast.

She. She wanted to believe it would be better, safer, perfect. Is it ever?

Oh, Katherine. Here I am your first grand-daughter embellished in all that steel washed love.

She. She would be grateful. For the womb that had carried her, and five more healthy lives, would silently guide her. And me.

~ Oh, Mother. I feel you, your soul wrapped within my DNA, in the shape of my eyes, my high cheek bones, my tears.

I found your broken dreams in me

~

Andrea. I would be your wrath, your only, as defiant as deep January winds.

Andrea. I would run until my sides ached, my heart split open, until my mind settled like the family stew.

~Katherine, I am sorry you worried so. For Mother, for me, for all of us. You Katherine, are the strength in She. In Me. In silence, in that place, that place that no one can reach. The place where we fall when we lie alone in darkness, when we stare into October mornings, when we watch the garden wither, as the stray cat passes by. ~