I Am Your Creation
by Mel Waldman
You raped Mother and I am your creation, a dumb embryo growling, growing and howling in a mute landscape, wandering in a microscopic Waste Land, an invisible being or pre-being traveling through predestined metamorphosis on a dark journey to the other side of life.
Mother has chosen not to abort me, but I fear life more than death. Soon I will become a furious fetus shrieking silent prayers to G-d, raging against birth. Mother will struggle to give birth to me and I, a dumb fetus, will procrastinate as long as I can. If I am born, who will I be? Who will I become? Even now, who am I? I fear the truth.
You raped Mother and I am your creation. Who am I? Am I destined to be my father’s son or daughter? Naked in Mother’s womb, I wear a wounded soul, a flimsy veil that covers and lacerates me with anguish and loss. And I weep silently in the vast Void. I weep, for I fear the truth.
What do you think, Father? Do I belong to you? Or shall Mother’s sweet beauty deliver me from sin at birth and the raw, foul odor of evil?
Mother wills me to be and become, knowing, perhaps, glittering secrets of birth and redemption. Who am I?
I grow inside her round, vast cornucopia, lost in a bleak landscape, wondering if I am a blessing or curse or something darker.
Copyright © 2012 by Mel Waldman