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Mama Mada
The Cord
by Maggie Saw k ins
When I thought of what she was carrying
I imagined it the colour of silt,
and if it had eyes then they were the eyes
of a fish long out of water.
I imagined it soulless, like a stone
(a stone cannot haunt one’s dreams),
so that if it was taken from us,
we’d be glad to be rid of it.
I hadn’t reckoned for the sound
of its unborn heartbeat
that was the heartbeat of a colt
cantering towards grass
or when it came, its mewl –
the physicality of detachment.
When the nurse asked if I would cut it,
I could not cut it.
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