My mother-in law tells me
a baby will not come
without music. Says in Sufi
cultures, any woman
who wants to bloom
mother is sent
to dark. She must steep
inside a cave, damp with doubt,
until she pulls song
from want. She must compose
the lyrics to welcome
her child in. And when she returns
certain with hunger,
she must teach
each cousin, neighbor,
family the chorus,
until stranger
and soothe mean
the same. So tonight, my child,
I build my body,
your village. I unfork the river,
water each vineyard, serenade this sea.
I have written this world
for you. Can you hear us
chanting your name?
