Smell the dew of soft newborn skin
Atop your breast,
They suckle life inside their tiny
Mouths.
Expectations of a better life
Then their ancestors,
Is something traditional, was
Exponential.
Seventh generation was spit on and
Mocked, for the good lord
Has given you bounties and
Crops.
I look at her tiny fingers,
A fingernail - a button woven in,
An innocence, a life
Stolen.
We cry at the cracks of glaciers,
The plastic in our DNA,
"They will fix this for us"
They say.
But they aren't allowed to
Play the game, until their adults,
Indoctrinated, and
Tame.
I will never know the feeling,
My womb growing with delight.
I will never know the feeling,
Of bringing life into the
Night.
About the Creator
Kendra Marya
Campervan living Canadian with a penchant for psychological thrills and cats.
B.A. Communication & Philosophy
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Comments (1)
This is an impacting piece. I admit the last couple lines threw mw off, then I scrolled back up. But even without it, the poem was heartfelt and as a woman who refuses to give birth, because "Ow" and "Ew" I can even relate.