In The Belly

In The Belly


of my baby
I breathe rushing water,
his element,
his blue air;
and I do not even miss the land,
though sometimes we swim close enough
to see creatures very much like me.
They sin and love it,
sin and forgive and go on.

In the belly of my baby
I am born and born and born
into the world a convert
whose old way had a tang;
who wanted to walk in the dust
tagging the powder-heeled minds.

In the belly of my baby
I have escaped the old suffering,
the self no longer dogs me, her teeth
dull as knitting needles against a silver blade
even now swinging to infant need.

In the belly of my baby
I grow another stroke, a hand
as clumsy as another set of toes.
My mouth learns to paint,
and pigment tastes the same
as ink--a bit more rich and rank.

In the belly of my baby,
I am home not alone.
In the belly of my baby
I have not forgotten sin and the city,
the mission I flesh, and the purge
still to come one day and spit me out.


Heid E. Erdrich......from The Mother's Tongue