4
As the elders taught, I saved the stumps of their umbilical cords,
then dried and strung them through a safety pin to keep them close.
And I named them, oiled their limbs, called the spirits to watch over them—
As the elders taught, I dried and saved the stumps of their umbilical cords.
As they grew, they saw how life cuts through the gourd; I gave them words
for power stirred from the gut, words for kindness, words to dress like bones.
As the elders taught, I saved the stumps of their umbilical cords,
then dried and strung them through a safety pin to keep them close.
In response to Via Negativa: Homeless.
I like your triolet, Luisa. I once knew a family who lived next door to us who had dried stumps of umbilical cords in a tiny sack hanging by their bed post.
Hey, Luisa. Hey, Geno. Good job with the triolet … they always faze me. But what I’ve learned from your poem here is to use a longer line. Cool!