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You’re primed for that final dive
towards the light; but my heart
is misbehaving – racing yours
in misplaced sympathy.
We move from home
“Blue light,” says the midwife,
“Blue light, please.”
And it’s only afterwards
I understand I could have died:
that my body, primed to push,
could have pushed too hard:
my heart bursting into her hands
with the eagerness of birth.
Would she have caught it,
wrapped it in a blanket,
handed it to your father
to take home – your cot-twin,
wheezing its leaky refrain
to your new breaths?
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This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.
Dreams, desires, id and ego.
This poem is about our failure to feel fulfilled by our constant consumption of life.
Read it and find out.