Poetry

On my beach Is a maternity room Where poems are born. As both mother and midwife I exist in the middle space; The balance Between gestating ideas And the arrival of Living words.   I don’t create truth. I painfully push it out, Cut it from my body, Wipe the blood from it, Measure its length and weight, Count its toes, Swaddle it in a blanket of words, Then lay it carefully in your arms....