Can we honor the life that comes
Without honoring the life from
Whence it came?
When life becomes,
Is she the widened legs of shame?
For my own mother made me
As an extension of her own pleasure
I owe my blood
To her sexuality
For hers is the life
From whence I came.
And when we hold a child with high regard;
Revere the blood that pushes it veins,
Do we give the honor to its own heart
Or do we thank the blood
From whence we came?