Alone in My Apartment

The Ides Have It: A 2020 Spoken Word Series (Poem #12 of 12)

Greg Frankson
Dec 13, 2020 · 3 min read
Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash
Audio for The Ides Have It will be posted here throughout the year.

i was alone in my apartment
the day my daughter was born
imagining the scene at the hospital as new mother
lay on bed with waters spilled and cervix
induced to expand like an eye taking in visions
loud screams followed by thick lips, a dark curly-haired crown
and a birthmark that reddened petite nostrils
nurse swoops in like a stork to cleanse the infant
of the fluids that ease passage through the birth canal
then places the tears, hopes, joys, and dreams
of two human beings
perfectly formed on new mother’s chest
flanked by new grandmother and best friend
experiencing a bond of feminine strength
that i cannot ever hope to understand

my baby is a defender of humankind
her name a shorn feminized version of
a great leader and general
middle names of strong women
one from each side of the family tree
who provided her with peace and fidelity for eternity

my little girl is a queen by acclamation
needing no title or victory to lead
me from a place of emptiness
to an oasis of unmitigated love

but i was crying alone in my apartment
the day before my daughter was born
on long-distance telephone calls to find
the help i needed from afar
to shake seeds of confidence loose from the tree
of my life so i could plant and grow some with rain
corralled from my leaky ducts to water my lost soul
inward focus, outer unhappiness fold into each other
like yin and yang and destroy the self-love
i never truly cultivated
a fact this day makes all too real
in ways that defy subtlety

alone
is where you can find me

by myself
trying not to think about my daughter’s first cry

solitary
was the scream i released when i found out i could not be present

dismayed
to be unable to cut the cord and hold her in her first moments

in the year of our Lord two thousand and eight
on the winter solstice i experienced the shortest
coldest day of my life
at 4:44 p.m. the phone rang as fibre optics delivered
to me the excited gushings of new mother’s best friend
with a voice smiling louder
than the tearing sound of the fibres of my heart
she told me that at 4:41 my daughter was born

but in that moment i could not summon the will to feel glad
for torn muscles begat a gaping wound in my psyche
breath stolen from me
loosed a flood of tears that could not be staunched
i bled pain of loss from the theft of an experience
of beauty and power that time can never, ever heal
and even now if you listen closely
you can hear the silent wailing, unabated and raw

i was alone in my apartment the day my daughter was born
and when i think about all the pain and suffering
happiness, joys, and triumphs of my life
it’s the only one of my days
that i truly, truly wish
i could have back.

© A. Gregory Frankson 2020. All rights reserved.

Assemblage

A work of art made by grouping found or unrelated objects.

Greg Frankson

Written by

Poet, Educator, Social Commentator & Speaker • Presenting the vision that inspires others to positively change the world • raiseyourvoice[at]voiceshareinc.com

Assemblage

A collection of things or people. An object made of pieces fitted together. A work of art made by grouping found or unrelated objects. A publication on Medium.

Greg Frankson

Written by

Poet, Educator, Social Commentator & Speaker • Presenting the vision that inspires others to positively change the world • raiseyourvoice[at]voiceshareinc.com

Assemblage

A collection of things or people. An object made of pieces fitted together. A work of art made by grouping found or unrelated objects. A publication on Medium.

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