Batnadiv HaKarmi
AFTER BIRTH
they punch you down. Kneed.
Fallen dough that won’t bake.
No one warns about the aftermath.
Belly moon beat
by asteroids; navel
a black hole.
Invisible umbilical
snakes down the hall—
connected to no one—
connected to no thing—
cry for baby
cry for mothers
cry for your mother—
did she go
down this way before?
distended belly crater—
how it is punched down.
Was life here? It is gone.
Was life here?
No place your own, no part
untorn. In the cold
hospital rain, look
at the glaring eye in the sky
navel twisted. Yeasty
hollow, how
it is punched down.
Dough body laid out—
unshaped. Naked
as never.
Punched.
Red rain. Distended
snake. Belly a hollowed tomb,
Your moon maw.
The mother’s
intimate navel. No yours.
No landscape for mothers.
Just the baby’s sad lone cry.