Little Studies: 2

“Before the mouth,
who owned me?” ~ D. Bonta

The sea.
The salt I drank
in my mother’s womb.
The dark I climbed,
round and round,
one handhold
at a time.
Somewhere in the middle,
it dimpled. Light broke
in the middle, somewhere.
One handhold
round and round
in the dark I climbed,
womb of my mother’s
salt I drank:
the sea.


In response to Via Negativa: Stewardship.

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