I thought this poem was very interesting, and wanted to share it here.
THE PLACENTA HEART CLUB
The placenta of my womb
never gave me enough,
despite all my pleading.
So my heart did not develop
and at birth–in a frantic attempt
to save me–
lacking any better
immediate object–
the doctor inserted
the last ragged shards
of that same placenta
into the hole of my heart.
Ironic, yes, and as a result
I’ve been gasping
for air ever since–
every
single
step.
But I see others
walking around
and it’s so obvious:
Him too. Her too.
Him. Her. Her Him.
All with the same ailment.
We should form a club–
the Placenta Heart Club.
But we’d probably just
sit around, mumbling
about all our
bumbling–
about how it feels to go up
the ladder
then right back
down again.
How can those
who share
the same
affliction
create
wholeness
by having
a party
right here
on Earth?
How can
I create
an act
of grace
with such
blunt instruments
as I possess–?–
most days
the best I have
are my hands
and the desire
not to hurt
children
or dogs.
Fortunately
we have these bells
on our ears
that tell us
we are moving
even though
we seem to be
standing still.
These bells tell me
I need this empty sack,
this shallow breath,
this desire to be
whole again–I need
this edition of myself
more than I need
anything else.
These bells tell me:
though I’m dizzy
I spin
a spinning wheel.
So I’m very
productive
even when
I don’t
feel so well.
These bells tell me
my placenta lives
as a breaming sun lake.
These bells tell me
I now need
to talk to
my sisters
and brothers
about how it feels
to go up
the ladder, then
right back
down again.
These bells
loudly proclaim
this life offers
the best opportunity
for every dizzy one
of the Placenta Heart Club
to realize
their roundness
once again.
© 2008, Michael R. Patton