I NAMED YOU FOR HER

When you first were wrenched out

of my cut-open stomach, you passed

the pile of neatly stacked organs

they had taken out of me to reach 

you lined up around the wound 

and I wanted to die. You’ll feel 

a little tugging now, the Dr. said

and I wanted to scream, You started

without me? You, neck noosed

twice by the umbilical cord, blue

face and toes. I heard them talk

as I was sewn up, and then you

cried, a long peal of protest against

air, against light, against being one

and alone. Against. Against. Again.

Until they put you on my chest, blind

eyes, sniffing. Lips finding my nipple

and the sudden tough tug release sniff

tug release sniff            not a sound

as the other breast squirted out 

a geyser of milk. The nurse, eaglet

young, laughed and lifted you

and put you on the second breast.

I wanted to die. I knew nothing. No.

Thing. Until my grandmother, dead

these 18 years, came through

the wall to sit by my side.