delivery room The cutting ceremony begins ahead of schedule, knife slashing sweet taffy braid in two, spilling shades of black purple. Wine leaves stains. They place him in a plastic bed across the room, the unfinished mother feasting her eyes on unleavened bread, her frozen mind glimpsing toy arms and legs, clay bird wings. I can't reach you. Naked chills the air to pale. Do you feel the latex hands and icy stainless steel locket poised to pronounce you silent and do you hear the snap of starched ghosts in sharp green masks mumbling the finale? The wall clock stops drawing circles. The hospital graveyard shift leaves for home. Outside, horizon's straight line swallows the sun. A finished mother floats fingertips over stiff soles of ink on yellow-aged legal paper wanting to hold them in her purple blanket of flesh. She knows. Some love affairs are too short. Some end without a smile.
Nancy J. Bowe's Questions:
1) Which images or passages were particularly meaningful or striking to you?
2) What do you think the poem is really talking about? State what you feel is taking place.
3) Why do you think the poem was written?
4) Are there any ideas or images that could be expanded?