this creek cannot flow
heat and sun drink it
to a series of shallow ponds
dammed by rocks

& today
this body is like that chain
of dying & drying water

ovaries frantically blooming eggs
their children
before they die and dry too

& the whole body mourns
this fruitless release
every ovulation
for five years
a knife twist
in the bowl of my hips
& dullness of breasts
aching to feed

the body is ignorant
of what the brain knows
& weeps
because of it

About Susan L Daniels

I am a firm believer that politics are personal, that faith is expressed through action, and that life is something that must be loved and lived authentically--or why bother with any of it?
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15 Responses to drought

  1. Kyle says:

    so sad and poignant susan

  2. Jeremy Nathan Marks says:

    I love that last stanza.

    Maybe the brain is senseless to joy? I wonder about that sometimes.

  3. No, woman, no cry! Life changes. one does not challenge one’s personal god to a wrestling match!

  4. nelle says:

    Damn. *like*

    • This one has some backstory to it…I was in my early 20s, and talking to a woman I knew–she was in her midforties. She was telling me her eggs were dying and her body mourned with each cycle. The image stuck with me, although I didn’t really “get” her at the time. Interestingly enough, I have “gotten” her ever since I had my tubes tied, back in 2006, after Aryn was born…It is almost as if my body somehow knows it is wasting every ovulation and makes me pay for it. Somehow going to the creek today triggered this memory πŸ™‚

  5. Rhonda says:

    Oh Lord…my hot flash is crying. damn sfam! so beautiful

  6. Tenderly sad~ I still believe your understanding of such losses or, postponing until Christ returns has created in you deeper empathy in viewpoint and definitely in your writing ~ Blessings Friend

  7. jomul7 says:

    After reading the last novel of Haruki Murakami “1q84”, I was given a glimpse of the ovulation process better than the biology books I have read. For some reason, I still remember that there are 400 eggs available for women and this poem just brought back that fact to me.

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