I

by Toi Derricotte

  pain like this ever.) and i am thinking, this is the one

  who told me i would hurt. FORGET ALL THAT SILLY

  BREATHING STUFF. YOU’LL TAKE A SHOT LIKE THE

  REST WHEN THE TIME COMES. now, every time he

  sticks that wooden board up me, jams that stake inside my

  bleeding heart, i know, this is one who likes to give me pain.

  this is static. no stop between. how can they know the

  mountain of pain in me? how can every woman suffer so?

  how can every man and woman walking on legs, the thousands

  you see each day, how can each have had a mother like me?

  how can life contain it? how can any woman know and let

  this happen? one pain like this should be enough to save

  the world forever.

  the nurse says she’ll give me a shot. still wants to

  give me a shot. but i don’t want a shot. i’ve tried so hard

  all night to stay awake and fight and breathe, and now it’s

  8:00 and might go on like this forever i want to be awake

  and see my baby, want to see him crown, the head immense

  as sun and bright with blood crack over the bowl of earth i

  want to feel the womb of god close over me, and want to,

  more than anything, feel joy and love and welcome him god

  help this man be born into this world help his mother wants

  to share this moment with his beauty wants to hold on to

  the pain a second more and feel him crown inside me majesty

  and might no more than being humble will allow a broken

  woman, let me be awake and push him into light . . .

  it’s light outside it’s light i can see it in the mirror

  day is coming night is passing i am so far in myself

  i can’t see out can’t say no to anything floating on my

  pain . . .

  doctor comes in to feel the head. keeps coming in,

  making me hurt, sticking his whole hand up my asshole.

  and it hurts like sticking a wooden ax handle up my cunt

  and grinding it inside me, hot cigars burning ax handles

  and i can’t move i’m in such pain, can’t move away from

  him raping me each time sticking his whole gloved hand

  up my wounded cunt.

  my heart is open. my whole body is open and cannot say

  no. my mouth, each mouth inside me is open and bleeding.

  each heart is like the moon without a middle, a white

  hole in the sky so wide the sun has gone through.

  he must be happy to make me feel such pain. he must be

  happy because he is a man and in control of me and i

  cannot move away from him while he takes me on this bed

  of pain and he tells me it is for my own good when i

  tell him how i hurt, he tells me it is almost over, but

  the clock is stuck on pain, stuck on forever, and i know

  that he is lying.

  he wants me to roll and beg like a dog, please doctor

  please don’t hurt me anymore do anything do anything you

  say but help me help me not to feel such pain but i don’t

  beg him. i don’t beg him because i hate him. i keep

  my pain locked up inside. he’ll never know how much

  he hurts me, i’ll never let him know.

  my heart is frozen like a calf. on ice. my heart is

  empty meat. my heart, my love is frozen. i will never

  love again.

  up there. the girls are in the dark. behind

  dark panes of glass. i cannot look in, but

  i can see their faces. they are happy for me.

  they have gone to sleep with smiles on their

  faces. they are happy because i have

  gone down.

  but i am so alone.

  tonight all windows are gray and shuttered

  by paper. all rooms are closed to me tonight

  except this room, awash with brightness.

  far away, across the courtyard, up through

  darkness, like the dark around a ship without

  a thought of land, is light, another light, the

  light of girls’ dreams.

  how i wish that one would light a candle,

  all night a candle of consciousness lit

  outside my pain. but i am far away, lost to

  the sight of land, and they are quiet, like

  children in the nursery.

  let them sleep tonight, ignorant of where i

  stand (their knowledge cannot help). but how

  will i ever look beauty in the face again,

  once blinded by this light?

  transition

  the meat rolls up and moans on the damp table.

  my body is a piece of cotton over another

  woman’s body. some other woman, all muscle and nerve, is

  tearing apart and opening under me.

  i move with her like skin, not able to do anything else,

  i am just watching her, not able to believe what her

  body can do, what it will do, to get this thing accomplished.

  this muscle of a lady, this crazy ocean in my teacup.

  she moves the pillars of the sky. i am stretched into

  fragments, tissue paper thin. the light shines through

  to her goatness, her blood-thick heart that thuds like

  one drum in the universe emptying its stars.

  she is

  that heart

  larger

  than my life

  stuffed

  in

  me

  like sausage

  black sky

  bird

  pecking

  at the bloody

  ligament

  trying

  to get

  in, get

  out

  i am

  holding out with

  everything i

  have

  holding out

  the evil thing

  when i see there is

  no answer

  to the screamed

  word

  GOD

  nothing i can do,

  no use,

  i have to let her in,

  open the door,

  put down the mat

  welcome her

  as if she

  might be the

  called-for death,

  the final

  abstraction.

  she comes.

  like a tunnel

  fast

  coming into

  blackness

  with my headlights

  off

  you can push . . .

  i hung there. still hurting, not knowing what to do.

  if you push too early, it hurts more. i called the

  doctor back again. are you sure i can push? are you sure?

  i couldn’t believe that pain was over, that the punishment

  was enough, that the wave, the huge blue mind i

  was living inside, was receding. i had forgotten there

  ever was a life without pain, a moment when pain wasn’t

  absolute as air.

  why weren’t the nurses and doctors rushing toward me?

  why weren’t they wrapping me in white? white for respect,

  white for triumph, white for the white light i was being

  accepted into after death? why was it so simple as saying

  you can push? why were they walking away from me into

  other rooms as if this were not the end the beginning of

  something which the world should watch?

  i felt something pulling me inside, a soft call, but i

  could feel her power. something inside me i could go

  with, wide and deep and wonderful. the more i gave

  to her, the more she answe
red me. i held this conversation

  in myself like a love that never stops. i pushed toward

  her, she came toward me, gently, softly, sucking like a

  wave. i pushed deeper and she swelled wider, darker when

  she saw i wasn’t afraid. then i saw the darker glory

  of her under me.

  why wasn’t the room bursting with lilies? why was

  everything the same with them moving so slowly as if

  they were drugged? why were they acting the same when,

  suddenly, everything had changed?

  we were through with pain, would never suffer in our

  lives again. put pain down like a rag, unzipper skin,

  step out of our dead bodies, and leave them on the

  floor. glorious sprits were rising, blanched with

  light, like thirsty women shining with their thirst.

  i felt myself rise up with all the dead, climb out of

  the tomb like christ, holy and wise, transfigured with

  the knowledge of the tomb inside my brain, holding the

  gold key to the dark stamped inside my genes, never to

  be forgotten . . .

  it was time. it was really time. this baby would be

  born. it would really happen. this wasn’t just a

  trick to leave me in hell forever. like all the other

  babies, babies of women lined up in rooms along the halls,

  semi-conscious, moaning, breathing, alone with or without

  husbands, there was a natural end to it that i was going

  to live to see! soon i would believe in something larger

  than pain, a purpose and an end. i had lived through to

  another mind, a total revolution of the stars, and had

  come out on the other side!

  one can only imagine the shifting of the universe, the

  layers of shale and rock and sky torturing against each

  other, the tension, the sudden letting go. the pivot of

  one woman stuck in the socket, flesh and bones giving

  way, the v-groin locked, vise thigh, and the sudden

  release when everything comes to rest on new pillars.

  where is the woman who left home one night at 10 p.m.

  while everyone was watching the mitch miller xmas show?

  lost to you, to herself, to everyone

  they finished watching the news, went to sleep,

  dreamed, woke up, pissed, brushed their teeth, ate

  corn flakes, combed their hair, and on the way out

  of the door, they got a phone call . . .

  while they slept the whole universe had changed.

  delivery

  i was in the delivery room, PUT YOUR

  FEET UP IN THE STIRRUPS, i put them up, obedient,

  still humbled, though the spirit was growing larger

  in me that black woman was in my throat, her thin

  song, high pitched like a lark, and all the muscles

  were starting to constrict around her.

  i tried to push just a little. it

  didn’t hurt. i tried a little more.

  ROLL UP, guzzo said. he wanted to give me

  a spinal. NO. I DON’T WANT A SPINAL. (same

  doctor as ax handle up my butt, same as shaft

  of split wood, doctor spike, driving the

  head home where my soft animal cowed and prayed and

  cried for his mother.)

  or was the baby

  part of this

  whole damn

  conspiracy,

  in on it with

  guzzo,

  the two of them

  wanting to shoot

  the wood

  up me for

  nothing,

  for playing

  music to him

  in the dark

  for singing

  to my round

  clasped

  belly

  for filling

  up with

  pizza on a cold

  night, dough

  warm.

  maybe

  he

  wanted

  out,

  was saying

  give her

  a needle

  and let me/the hell/

  out of here

  who cares

  what she

  wants

  put her

  to sleep.

  (my baby

  pushing off

  with his black

  feet

  from the dark

  shore, heading

  out, not

  knowing

  which way and trusting,

  oarless and eyeless, so

  hopeless

  it didn’t matter.)

  no. not

  my baby.

  this

  loved

  thing

  in/and of

  myself

  so i balled up

  and let him

  try to

  stick it in.

  maybe

  something was

  wrong.

  ROLL UP

  he said

  ROLL UP

  but i don’t want it

  ROLL UP ROLL UP

  but it doesn’t hurt

  we all stood,

  nurses, round the white

  light

  hands

  hanging

  empty at our sides

  ROLL UP IN A BALL

  all of us not

  knowing

  how

  or if

  in such a world without

  false promises

  we could say

  anything

  but, yes,

  yes.

  come take it

  and be quick.

  i put my belly in my hand

  gave him that

  thin side

  of my back

  the bones

  intruding on the air

  in little knobs

  in joints

  he might

  crack

  down my spine

  his knuckles

  rap

  each twisted

  symmetry

  put me on

  the rack,

  each

  nerve

  bright

  and stretched

  like canvas.

  he couldn’t get it in!

  three times, he tried

  ROLL UP, he cried, ROLL UP

  three times

  he couldn’t get it in!

  dr. y (the head obstetrician)

  came in

  “what are you

  doing, guzzo,

  i thought she

  wanted

  natural . . .

  (to me) do

  you want

  a shot . . . no? well,

  PUT YOUR LEGS UP,

  GIRL, AND

  PUSH!”

  and suddenly, the light

  went out

  the nurses

  laughed

  and nothing

  mattered

  in this 10

  a.m. sun

  shiny morning

  we were well

  the nurses and the

  doctors cheering

  that girl

  combing hair

  all in one

  direction

  shining

  bright as water.

  i

  grew deep

  in me

  like fist and i

  grew deep

  in me

  like death

  and i

  grew deep

  in me

  like hiding in the sea and

  i was

  over me

  like

  sun and i

  was under

  me

  like sky and i

  could look
/>
  into myself

  like one

  dark eye.

  i was her

  and she was me

  and we were

  scattered round

  like light

  nurses

  doctors

  cheering

  such waves

  my face

  contorted,

  never

  wore

  such mask, so

  rigid

  and so dark

  so

  bright, un-

  compromising

  brave

  no turning

  back/no

  no’s.

  i was so

  beautiful. i

  could look

  up in the

  light and

  see my huge-

  ness,

  arc,

  electric,

  heavy, fleshy, living

  light.

  no wonder they

  praised me,

  a gesture

  one makes

  helpless and

  urgent, praising

  what goes on

  without our praise.

  when there

  was nowhere

  i could go, when i

  was so deep

  in myself

  so large

  i had to

  let it out

  they said

  drop back. i

  dropped back

  on the table

  panting,

  they moved

  the head, swiveled

  it correctly

  but i

  i

  was

  losing

  her. something

  a head

  coming through

  the door.

  NAME PLEASE/

  PLEASE/NAME/whose

  head/i

  don’t know/some/

  disconnection

  NAME PLEASE/

  and i

  am not ready:

  the sudden visibility—

  his body,

  his curly wet hair,

  his arms

  abandoned in that air,

  an arching, squiggling thing,

  his skin must be

  so cold,

  but there is nothing

  i can do

  to warm him,

  his body clutches

  in a wretched

  spineless way.

  they expect me

  to sing

  joy joy

  a son is born,

  child is given.

  tongue

  curled in my head

  tears, cheeks

  stringy with

  damp hair.

  this lump

  of flesh,

  lump of steamy

  viscera.

  who

  is this

  child

  who

  is his father

  a child

  never having

  been seen

  before,

  without

  credentials

  credit cards without

  employee

  reference or

  high school grades or

  anything

  to make him

  human make

  him mine but

  skein of

  pain to

  chop off

  at the navel.