Labour Pains
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I am sick today,
sick in my body,
eyes wide open, silent,
I lie on the bed of childbirth.
When do I,
so used to the nearness of death,
to pain and blood and screaming,
now uncontrollably tremble with dread?
A nice young doctor tried to comfort me,
and talked about the joy of giving birth.
Since I knew better than he about this matter,
what good purpose can his prattle serve?
Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past.
Let those who lack immediacy be silent.
Let observers be content to observe.
I am all alone,
totally, utterly, entirely on my own,
gnawing my lips, holding my body rigid,
waiting on inexorable fate.
There is only one truth,
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness,
neither good nor bad; real,no shame about it.
With the first labour pains,
suddenly the sun goes pale.
The indifferent world goes suddenly calm.
I am alone.
It is alone I am.
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