The moon told a story to the new mother
One of her life, of her aching womb.
The young daughter - eyes shut, still warm
Lay in her arms like a weighted decision, heavy
With restriction, with remorse for her withering moment
Her life now passing her by
The car ride home felt gloomy as the scenery
inched by
He insisted on driving, he was stubborn like his mother
Had been. In the passenger seat her mind was racing with the thought that
this moment,
The one where her recovery was wombed
In silence, was trapped between her heavy
Heart and empty dwelling where the child had kept her warm
The room made up for baby Una was painted a
warm
Yellow, with a musky stench of all the occupants gone by
Every second before the birth she thought about the heavy
Burden she was undertaking by becoming a mother
Though the anticipation was wearing, the toll Una's birth took on her womb
Left her body drained and hollow for the moment
It is as if each moment
She had spent sublimely happy she now sat between the windows of the warm
subway car, flickering past on her way to work. Some say time heals all wombs,
But instead the moon plays with your mind even as you rush by
The fading sunlight, and then you realize you never wanted to be a mother.
By then it is too late, and you are left like a wet dog searching, with tired
feet and heavy
Eyes telling the story of young Una, whose heavy
Misery was forced upon her like a shirt that's unable to resist the moment
When the crease of the iron strikes; she owes it all to her mother
Who hadn't really cared at all
Una prayed for strength to take her by
The hand and help her out of the womb
Her mother had trapped her in since birth. The
womb
Where she had built walls of resentment, of shame, of heavy
Hatred. But years of scratching passed her by
And soon her tide turned fertile as well as fatal. For each moment
Inside her warm
Womanhood she carries a child and the weight of her mother.
In the night, after her womb had healed, Una
felt weak to the moment
When she could sense the heavy pull of the moon when it was warm
And devious, it was then she rose and sat by her sleeping child, and knew
she would be stronger than her mother.
-Winter D'Angelillo
April 13th, 2004
