The Go-Ahead

The rain is like my labor,

tiny droplets that could

build to a deluge but don’t.

 

The beat thrums in my ears;

I know this crescendo by heart.

I count pavement squares

and the words drop –

I’m the female rebel

So I quicken my pace.

 

Ten long months later I’m finally unleashed.

 

My feet pound the sidewalk.

A run. My run.

My strides synchronize with alt-J and Alabama Shakes,

old tunes with a bass that urges

me onward

faster, harder.

 

(Admittedly,

this is more a shuffle than a run.

the twinge in my side reminding me

of hospital beds and staples).

 

There is jiggle

where there wasn’t before.

But this is not about that.

 

It’s about collecting pieces of me,

learning to marry me to Mom –

the intricate balance of meeting needs.

 

I run (sort of) splayed arm in joy,

singing the lyrics out loud,

not caring if I look crazy or sing off tune.

 

This is my reclaiming.

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