Arrival 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 |