THE UNBORN CHILD
you catch a glimpse of the unborn child running in the background
she is on her way moon beams light her path she comes from the
in her pocket is a string tied around her finger and today's post
a small blue letter carefully penned within is her name
nothing else all that she is and all that she will ever be
is carried in her name her mama waits for her it is a time of bliss
she slips out of her sandals to walk in the sand pink grains between
she dons her wig-hat and pinks her lips draws on her face
a new mask shakes the sand from her feet delighted as she looks
in the mirror
in the mirror
July 23, 2017
Note: I have combined the words from Sunday's Whirligig and The Sunday Whirl. Not all the words spoke to me....but I give myself permission to use only the words that resonate in this moment. The other words I will leave and let others find a place for them in their poems.
The idea of the unborn child came from the movie, Daughters of the Dust, one of my favorites. The movie creates a scene, of the what is happening just before the birth...and in the background you can see the unborn child running, coming to the place of her birth. The unborn child narrates the scene.
"Languid look at the Gullah culture of the sea islands off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia where African folk-ways were maintained well into the 20th Century and was one of the last bastions of these mores in America. Set in 1902." (This is a description of the film from the Daughters of the Dust site.)