reflections on birth
31. Jennifer Joan arrived on this plane during a lunar eclipse on an early Tuesday evening. I have the orion belt in moles on my shoulder. My mother had had surgeries in order to conceive my older sister, they told her she would not be able to bear anymore children. The doctor that performed these surgeries was murdered on a New Years eve in his home. I work in the hospital where I was born. Mom thought I was dying within a week of birth because I would not eat. I have never eaten a meal from McDonalds. I have written ever since I could. When I was in elementary school, a teacher expressed concern because I wrote about a family dying in a natural disaster. I have never dyed my hair and I never wear makeup. I do not own a TV. The least favorite part of my job is being exposed to television broadcastings in the break and patient's rooms. I feel violent walking against the flow of a stream. My childhood was spent moving rocks on a creek bed in order to create mini-waterfalls. My adulthood is making reservoirs out of mental, physical and emotional waterfalls. Time is not linear nor is it brief nor is it, but for this moment I am present and I receive. In reverence, I honor. In honor, I love. Thank you.