Saturday, April 2, 2011

mother


She gave birth to the horizon

pulling at the line between 
her thighs, yanking for miles
upon the sea and the not sea.
Each night she watches
the sun blow himself out
on the cusp of the world,
waiting in vain for one shut
lipped horizon to open 
in thanks, or in need. 



Part of what I am trying to imagine in this poem is that in giving birth a mother not only gives birth to a baby, but gives birth (from the baby’s point of view) to the world; I’ve merely taken out the intermediary step of the actual fleshy babe.  The mother then becomes the larger symbol of the universal mother, or even the Creator, who repeatedly  must watch the creature use the gift of creation to seek self-annihilation.  In this orientation, the creature cannot fathom prayer in the form of gratitude or supplication.  

I know it’s all sorts of tacky to interpret your own mediocre poem.  I am sitting here trying to come up with a reasonable excuse, but I have none. 

1 comment:

Daniel said...

Hehe. Natasha I love your explanation of your explanation. For me, the initial explanation itself was helpful, since I don't read poetry often. It is like the caption next to a work of art at a museum.