When the womb's subterranean wave
tears the amnion, the pelvis
groans at the coming brutality.

Down the bloody canal and out
the elastic inlet bursts a face, compressed
like dried fruit, vaguely human.

After shoulders spills the body.
Pink fingers unravel and grope
like stubby tentacles in the white glare.

My newborn daughter is dreaming this world
is no different from the other balmy world
though light pierces her pupils like a prophecy

C. E. Chaffin