Nanette Rayman

TO MY LOST CHILD

Once I imagined myself
a painter of life
and I opened
my womb
run-offs of the body
that improvise children
I invented your eyes
that became a mind
that would never stop craving
the spilling shores of mother.
 I begged for you
to create yourself
from weak blood
taught you the moment to arrive,
still.  Your face is blurred,
wriggled in genteel strokes
my amethyst child
my cabochon
your facets ungiven.
I allow myself to sketch you in my dreams
I rise
a woman
resolute and open
a penduncle long and fulminous
savage as a headstone
my roots wrapped around
your unformed bones
my womb
that severed you in pieces
of dead blood
when you sweetly desired
to be flesh
of my flesh.

Location:	New York, New York
Email:	Nanetterayman@yahoo.com
Publications:	Octavo, 5 Trope, Small Spiral Notebook, Disquieting Muses, The American Muse, Three Candles, Pinball, Snow Monkey, Pedestal, Millennium Papers, Concrete Wolf, etc.

- September 2003 - Being the Squid The Middle Years A Recommendation for Dismissal of the Operative Leaving Pound's Grave Frigid carved in formica The Importance of Being Ernest Landscaping To My Lost Child Black Linen Eclipse in Threes Probanza