Mandela

The look on your face
when I asked for my uterus,
made me laugh-

loud and garishly,
seriously damaging my chances
of burying you with honor.

Irrevocably linked to my youth,
sexuality,
my true inner self.
 
First home of my babies,
it had been damaged early; hurt often
by men without the gift of consent.

Now on the eve of its’ demise,
I wanted to be the last one
to touch my Womb.

You made me sit in cold offices--
 a peculiarity.

I was made to explain
why my uterus was important to Me.

Perhaps if it were your sacred testicles
you  might understand my Loss.

The last remnant of my fecund self
now lies decaying,
nurturing a great Cedar tree.

Fertilizer for another chance at Life. 




lauri langston © 2011  


Shamas Oracle by Apryl Skies © 2012
A proud Contributor 
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POETRY

The Dance