When I die, I want to be buried back in my mother’s body.
Be left alone to swim in the liquid bed of her womb.
Be fed again directly through her mouth.
But no, this is a recollection of suffering for my mother
Whose open legs carried labour pangs for a baby whose head refused to bow to the slamming hands of Earth’s breeze.
That is a recollection of my mother’s suffering
She had to carry a god who refused to yield to the call of flesh and join others subject to the universe
Until a prophet’s voice was used and the name of Christ was proclaimed to her hearing.
For this is the only thing she would bow to
The name of one who knew how to die and come alive again
The breath of one to whom the universe is subject to.
Regardless of my mother’s suffering
When I die – I want to be buried back in my mother’s body.
So when my chi comes to claim my body again I may turn a breathless turning, force my mother’s legs closed
Point my forefingers at it
Proclaim the name of the one it also bows to and tell it to
Suffer not this woman to be scorned twice
For a mighty daughters sake.