a happy birth story

The first time it happened, I nervously perched on the love seat in my aunt's house. The baby had a penis, which I sort of made out in the ultrasound photo, and therefore all decor came in powder blue - bears, cars, fucking footballs, tangled up in a haze of our cultures' baby boy. The women were gathered to play the baby shower Super Bowl - the worst was the tootsie roll in the diaper game. Surprise! Luckily there was alcohol for the women like myself, who weren't sure they would ever have kids and were horrified by the women who had. Many looked sexless, as though the birth of their child had caused all sexual inclinations to perish and Winnie the Pooh to set seige on their vaginas.
I set to get drunk quick and that's when the stories began. "Look honey, your boobs will never be the same after you breastfeed this kid. If I don't wear a bra it's like there are two pancakes hanging off my chest." Not to mention, "I was in labor for 36 hours until I screamed to the Doctor to get this thing out of me and he got out the vacuum thingy to suck his huge head through ..."  There wasn't enough alcohol to make this a party and I felt terrible for my cousin, who sat silently on the sideline opening box after box of the same onesie 3 piece outfit ready to burst with child and anguish.
I wondered why. Why would anyone have children if this is what birth and parenting reflected? Why would we celebrate life and womanhood in such a perverted and dogmatic way? Why did having children seem to strip these women of their power? And why wasn't the booze taking away the pain or at least speeding up the show?
It would be several years later that I found myself seeking the answers to these grand wonderments but let me tell you, this is a story about birth that you won't hear at most baby showers and it is one that will leave you in awe of your own beauty, strength, and vagina. So please join me in this happy birthing story - it's about a woman (that's me) who found her truth between contractions and discovered what the hell love really is and isn't through birthing two incredible beings.

Drex

The computer is hard. Bangs wet.

I made a school and died.

Now I write .

Go.

There is a man in the kitchen. The man cooks Mirabelle a perfect pita pizza. He has a daughter that has a mother who is a child. Conflict.

The last time I wrote was when I was writing to a man. Amen.

I can't write in sentences. Repent. I dye.

Damnit. How does a lady write a book when she only knows Haiku? I'm fucked.

Her voice is exilir. Baby. Born. B.

Can a novel be born of exerpts? No.

Black shirts. Laundry. Pack my bags.

You've been to too many bars when her voice is god.

Pizza man. I order mac and cheese. Like the kids in the park. Keep it simple.

I have a story. It is here and there.

Your hair reminds me its time.

If I could fuck your voice I would.

ode to washoe

in wisp of feathery pen,
stoked declaration of self,
motivated by presence, child, and man,
hood lifted, carefully held

woman whispering ode,
fused in fiery brow,
ignited in sagebrush and kinship,
connection indignantly loud

now take it deeply,
to wine, willows, and friends,
dirt's dance across leathery backs,
imbibe in this desert amen.

summer enlightenment

time to meditate.
a pilgrimage to
chinatown.

weathered friends,
scribing pages
of sidewalk sanskrit
welcome.

"hey, how are you?"
"good darling. very well."
"enjoying the sunshine?"
"yes darling. very well."
"what is the meaning of this?"
"darling. you are. listen."

bang. the white wheel on a man's
bicycle pops. he is thrown to
the curb. the bus stops.

"you have a nice ass."
"thank you."
"what did you come for?"
"satori."
"then drink this."

sirens and the man is
placed in an ambulance
discombobulated.

the beer is warm.
we shut our eyes.
silence. inhale.

alone i return to the car.

"wandering mind return to breath."

the key ignites
and i leave
knowing.

a spade

i once had lover who wrote me

and i would anticipate his sex
like hose water on an August garden.

tonight, i await the
reply of middle aged woman
over a proposed business takeover

that could pay the bills.

funny how simple getting off is
but how different it feels

when fucking a spade or a queen.

ambient rest

i take a pill

that eliminates
the endless email
the lagging phone call

one night's rest at a time.

and if the world pokes me
a simple re-dose
works until dawn

this state of surrender
has me rendered
like the tales' Grimm.

fuck this.

incarnation

summertime.

call it unofficial
but i saw my nipples
this season's begun.

the boys are basking
in halos unmasking,
but where is
the pun?

time to write script
but this season
has stripped
my winter's undone.

welcome back.