Sister Poetry

Sudden word-pangs

And images, long curled in fetal stillness

Stirred, and stetched,

And nudged against the womb-walls of my mind.

It seemed the ripe-time,

Very edge of birthing!

But mid-wife, Beauty,

Somehow lacked the gentler touch.

She was TOO swift,

Too savage.

And that first ecstatic cry came forth

A mute—

To be forever swaddled in a

wonder-silence!