Admitting We Were Born

—Stuart Friebert

When will you tire

of sitting next to doors,

feeding animals and children,

even in the dark ages

women kept guard at night,

the sky rushed back as if

it had forgotten something

and the sun became the number

one fuel, there one moment

and the next, tapping its head

till it grew light and we finally

undressed, turned sleeves inside

out, the light so deep we watched

it, settled back and just watched,

we’re watching it now but if we

turn around in what is called

the magic art of looking back,

men go to women, water to wells.

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