Field of Flesh

What is there to see when two eyes open?
First your mother, a field of flesh
from whence come answers to riddles . . .
First you need to go on all fours,
balance there, reach out, look for sound
inside. Let the gurgling music of springs
well up and bubble out. Inch up one knee,
then the other, crawling. So you travel,
then tire, find her field of flesh wrapping you
in arms that someday soon hold your fingers,
take the first step with you, then the second,
then let you go, hovering both her arms
around you, upright, seeking your father,
who’s where the sky’s breath is covering him.

(12 February 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander