poetry and prose webzine
Fruit of the Loins
The simple truth is
We were all seeds once
Somewhere in the past
The distant past
Or, less so for others
The ancient primordial swamp
That was the beginning
Not the actual swamp
But the proverbial swamp
The swamp of first time fumbling
“ Shush, my parents will hear us.”
“I’ve waited so long for this,”
(Wow, was that worth waiting for?)
“ Yuck, gads.”
My mum told me recently, last year,
when I phoned to speak to her
On the anniversary of my dad's death
The day after what would have been their 68th wedding anniversary
She said, “ This time, this exact time, 68 years ago,
At this exact time, Your dad and I were, for the first time,
Trying to make you. “
That was my reaction too.
But in silence.
That primordial swamp so long ago.
It didn’t create anything.
I arrived later.
We were all seeds once.