Six of Swords Reversed


King of Pentacles

I can’t say much about childbirth, 
at 41

I am not a mother, 
this is of course 
by choice and by a lot
of years of experience 
in saying no, no, no, no—
discomfort doesn’t rummage well in my pages—
I rip them if I have to,
discomfort is for pushing out strength,
for strange ways to contort the body, 
for hard conversations—
discomfort falls from sad days 
into the lap of the contagious ways 
I avoid what must be done
vines grow silently and slowly, 
how else do we get sweet wine if not with patience?
how else do we give birth without giving birth?
All I do is ask questions.
All I do do do is suck my thumb 
when things get tough 
and then I cry 
hoping to get back into the womb
to feel the pain of being birthed, 
because we forget
the baby’s pain 
when we only focus on the mother
imagine being snatched from the safest place you’ll ever be?
imagine leaving a warmth that can never be replicated even on the hottest day?
we’re all born ready to be under a great pressure,
we just get caught up being hungry for things that don’t nourish
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