Hour One

Eden’s Labor


Glaring at the rusty clock,

measuring minutes between her contractions

with such a fragile hand she wrote them.

Her pain would be no more.


Groping into the dark of night, beginning

the thirtieth hour.

no warrior could fathom such a strength

past a normal day’s muster

Her weakness would be no longer.


Losing light and blood as

the winds and waters panted along her sides,

the forests aching with her for this small

miracle to be complete:

Their sickness would be no more.
Birds and mountains cried long before she

with a march of bruised but empty arms

a mantra along to a dream promised ages ago.

Soon their tears would be no more.


Amidst slashed mirrors and photos with

marked out faces, her deepest desire was delivered

an answer, before she knew to ask for it.

Her hate of self would be no longer.


All that was left to do in the end was

to believe.

that someone greater than she

did care, did know, did bear her burden.

bouts of screams had finally ceased, for

Her pain was now no more.

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