Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Omphaloskeptic

Lint collects in the cavern at the center
of my abdomen, brown and blue, the colors
of recently-worn shirts. I think maybe
if I dialed my belly button instead

of my cell phone, my mother and I could never
lose signal in bad weather. That pulsing lifeline,
removed by doctors who know no better
than nature what kinds of scars we need,

used to hold the two of us so close
that she could feel my every kick, my liquid
sighs; now, all that remains of those days
of swelling life is this umbilicus,

this dark innie that marks the quadrants
of my adult body and is the grave
of that one cord, that vital string
through which we shared our blood.

4 comments:

Beaman said...

Your poem is very interesting. Definitely of great depth and one that requires a few readings to fully grasp, which is wonderful. Very well written.

Rob Kistner said...

I feel a strong sense of loss and o
longing is this peace. Well written and quite engaging.

...Rob

jim said...

Tremendous poem, and I admire the careful measuring here--both in the form and in the movement between past and present, visible and invisible, life and death.

An amazing performance, yes.

gautami tripathy said...

I loved the title and rest follows easy.