It struck like a Nor’easter
Barreling up the Atlantic coast,
Thriving on converging air masses.
And I was sucked in,
Bowled over by a freak wave,
Spitting mouthfuls of salty words,
Birthed out of me
As though a pair of rope-worn hands
Shoved them onto the page.

This virgin birth
Left me laughing with astonishment.
But on reflection
The seeds were buried deep and dormant,
The labor pangs, years in the having.
It was time
For those ripe, slippery phrases
To gush out of me.

Now I gaze at that mewling creature
Let loose on the world,
Cradle it to my chest,
Relish its earthy scent,
Scared of its vulnerability,
And take ownership:
The proud mother.