weaning in 5 acts

Some poems are written in ink or out loud.
Some poems you don't whisper to anyone or even copy off scratch paper.

This blog occupies a space between performance and privacy for me
So I'm posting this anyway. You can blame mango tribe if you like.


i
my breasts are humming
full of milk
tender
sore
heavy

i am my own metaphor

ii
i am missing our ritual
where i nourish her
and she
me

she welcomed me
and i
her

warm milk for
a warm embrace

iii
when we began
it was constant
every hour
half hour
every minute
every cry

and then each whim became
a ritual
a greeting
a way to share certain moments
morning, naptime
a before & after dinner snack
a way to get through
long tired nights

then came teeth
cows milk
tugging at my blouse
and she learned to nap instead
with backrubs
while patting my breasts
nostalgically

and now even the morning
and the evening
are faced without.
without my milk.
without me.

instead she has
her own self
her own body
in this new &
brave way

iv
this is not our first separation
that was more dramatic

i pushed her out of my body

and i wept & i bled
gazing at her
with flooded feelings
of joy & fear

my pregnancy ended
my girlchild began

distance was required
to simply meet her

v
and now more distance

if motherhood is this process
of moving her into the world
i have just dilated to 2 centimeters.
there will be more
(like crowning)
but this is enough for now
frightening & uncomfortable & necessary
& not really the end of anything