Where, oh where, just where are you
Mommy, my mommy, where were you
When they mangled my legs
And severed my head
When the surgical blade left me dead.
Mommy, oh Mommy, how are you?
I've had better days I admit
than this rank pit
with biowaste and Sharps.
I think I hate me too.
Mommy, am I sterile now?
They leeched me, pulled me out
Broke off my limbs, and now
Now I wanna cry,
Just like a normal babe;
Fresh from the Sow,
You reap what you sow.
I love you, Mommy
Or, at least I think so.
You do what's best for me.
I wanted to see
Your fresh blue eyes like mine
And honeyed hair
Doused in fuming gas, ashes, ashes
Like I was Saline.
The sun would shine so bright,
Bright like you've never seen.
The laughs echo, echo, echo
Of our love and dance on green.
My Mommy and me to be.
It burned Mommy,
It burned so bad,
I would have screamed if I could,
lip on lip, importuned --
But my baby throat burned too.
I had a dream, with smiles.
I saw a boy with lovely looks and mistakes
And my own dirty hands in caress.
I saw happy me, like you, in dress,
Twirling, twirling in fires.
Mommy oh Mommy, did you,
Could you feel me die
When those big men and metal tubes
Vacuumed me inside of you? Baby fingers strewn,
Out, out, brief in pieces of more than two.
My love dripped, dripped, dripped,
My love and fleshy goo,
Dripped, dripped, dripped out from you.
The liquid would quiver and shake
With salt, foreign and native in red hue.
With this separate fetal eye,
I saw what world I'd come by.
Thank you Mommy, for being so sweet, for saving me
From this illusory world, this poverty
That forced you to crush me with your feet,
In heart-bled agony, on clean, clean steel.
(Author's note: A poem that heavily inspired this poem's sense of morbidity and format is Sylvia Plath's poem "Daddy." The poem material is different, but I found the point of view, diction, and rhythm to be very suitable for my topic.)
