I press my lips

over the sacred birthing room

that carved your fleshy form

out of the norm

from the scar tissue that runs deep

is a mother’s love to keep

I close my eyes

cupping my ear to your watery shell

waiting for your story to tell

And imagine you

in utero;

was it waving or drowning?

Before they named you

you cried out, flailing your arms about;

a tiny miracle of movement

comes full circle

And makes the Earth whole again