Eleven

I first became a mother on a gray and misty spring day, April 18, 1998. This Mother’s Day, my fourteenth, the midwife who helped bring both sons into the world writes me an email message to share her memories of what a devoted partner Ficre was throughout my two pregnancies and births. Solo and Simon, the loves of his life. They gave him body love until his last day to give him all the strength he would need for his journey.

I find a poem by Ficre for Solomon in my computer files and I understand as never before what the children saved him from:

The funk is loud, toxic. I am veiled

In speed and shrill, clear, one note

Screams. They are aware

I race leaving all things behind

Only to catch up with more things

to overtake. Speed.

I scream back, infected, up-lifted