Thirty five years ago today, I had an out-of-body experience while giving birth to our son. At the time, I didn't know how to label it or why it happened. I t was pretty weird. But when I took a poetry writing class in 1996, I knew immediately that my birthing experience would be the topic of my first poem. Our professor said I was the only student he’d ever had who submitted a poem with a number as its title. I like being different, so this pleased me. My classmates thought the poem was filled with symbolism; it’s not. It’s more of a report. 011478 Elevator silently slips through the dark tunnel; we burst forth Machines and metals and masks but I am lying in the grass Drab green walls, brash fluorescents sapphire sky, air, earth The illuminated and mechanized beep, beep, beep rhythmic tribal drums Phones ring, the damn TV introspection, focus, a suspended pause Isolation connected to the Clan Who’s running this body? It’s the
Art. Herbs. Everything.