by K. Marie Bennett
Maybe the doctor thought thus when she ordered
the cesarean, cutting in before Nature could bare
her jagged red-tinged teeth.
We used to say that our world mirrored heaven: As
above, so below, with God over man, and man over
woman, and woman above only those bone-chewing
beasts. Or were we numbered among them?
Now we say that Jesus tore the curtain, opening the temple
to all, bringing close God and man. But I was just
a pregnant woman, my body no temple.
So the curtain went up and behind was torn
Mother once said after surgery,
she counts. The staples,
the stitches, the hours,
the inches, like talents
taken for ransom.
And my father once tithed a tenth of his toes.
Another number for the rosary
in a prayer to be whole.
K. MARIE BENNETT writes help documentation for software during the day, and the help documentation of the soul by night (poetry). She lives in the Midwestern U.S. with her husband, son, and Australian cattle dog.
Photo: “Rosary” by Liz West