Poetry Porch: Poetry


By Rebecca Seiferle:

According to the myth,

Love is for begetting and birth in the beautiful,
and the waters were alumbramiento,
their penumbra shedding glow, bringing the body
of light to the surface of the subterranean depths,

where I was floating in, obscure of mind.
Everything quieted, every paradise in me
with its chattering parrots and tiger eyes
hushed with the palpable that had fallen upon me

like a pregnancy of meaning laboring to come forth,
and was not my heart with thee?
All being is pregnant, both in body and soul;
I was waiting, neither asleep nor awake,

poised at the edge of something, as if at the tip
of a nipple or tongue, waiting to speak
a dusky flickering, alumbrar, to illuminate,
for beauty is the lady of labor, and when what is

pregnant comes near to a beautiful thing,
it becomes gracious and is poured out
at the hymen of being, where the beloved
awakens and puts on her skin like a gorgeous garment

and gives birth to an invisible child,
whose limbs are words, and who sings and sings
a song more blue and piercing
than the lost blue of the sea.

Copyright © 2007 by Rebecca Seiferle.