A Mother Ponders Rimbaud’s, Le Dormeur du Val
Eighty-four times the hours lapped
upon shore before she split me, soft flesh
mangled, a ripe and tender plum.
I lay there, riven, no river to sing me
to sleep, the chirp of an alarm tethering
me to that mossy room and its fluorescent
sun. my sister pressed a tincture to my
lips, muttered a prayer with her own.
I caressed the slippery creature on my
slippery chest, everything slipping
away, and whispered the only
words that would come: my baby.
deep in the shadowy cleft, soft
folds of shy tissue were woven
together with a searing thread,
the body once rent remembered.
I wondered then if they tried to kill
the pain and think now – unlikely.
Does one pour concrete into the Grand Canyon?
When a limb is severed, do we apply Neosporin?
Must we all pledge our bodies
to some great cause?
Beside a tear in the earth a solider
lay dying. I wonder now if
that field was an orchard.
Claire Dietrich Ranna is an Episcopal priest and Certified Trauma Professional. Her poetry has appeared in The Awakenings Review, and other writings in On Being, Fidelia Magazine, and the Los Altos Town Crier. Claire co-wrote and co-produced the documentary Miss Representation. She lives with her husband and their two children.
