Poetry From The Womb: A Mini Series
Something Remained
(For all pregnant women who die from abuse and those living with the scars)
I want to write a poem in anger
But I am no poet, only a woman with a womb
A witness to my sister’s pain
Her dying sounds finding my beleaguered ear
“Not for me, not just for me
Leave me to breathe life in this sacred shrine”
But Blood stains opened a path for her
Her womb ran on legs of faith
Violent steps encircled her light
Everybody part scattered around
And death gathered them all in its hands
Except her womb, slippery with life
She’s gone now but her bloody stains
Scream on the sleeves of your shirt
They cry in the armpits of your public face
And Flowers of her agony sprout in your sleep
No one wrestles with a God and wins
Every woman with a womb is a God!
So good :)
Posted by: Marissa R | November 28, 2012 at 03:28 PM
Interesting poem. But I do not agree that "Every woman with a womb is a God!
Actually, every woman with a womb is...a woman. [Rather than a man]
Do you mean that every abused woman is suffering as Christ did?
Posted by: Andrew | January 27, 2013 at 11:05 PM