Birth
A poem/prompt response
I tried to tell her that we are all martyrs in this life. The cycle itself is a premonition of the end.
Birth of bones, breakable, precious.
Like many saints, I have worshipped life,
and like many nihilists before me, I’ve cried martyrdom.
The way he abruptly raises his hands, I was scared mid-air. Why do I consistently struggle to celebrate birth?
The slaughtering, the killing, time and time again. Nascita, morte, provvisione.
However, I can’t deny happiness: Born, born, and born once more. Now in the arcadian womb of my sisters, soon to be ripened and picked.
Born. All my life I was misguided. Human experience, how dare you?
Mother…what have you done?
The Prompt
The month of May heralds a new season of, I hope, fervent fertility. Let us reap the rewards of a flush of inspired productivity here at Rainbow Salad. All of us — yes even you lot shivering down in Oz and it’s environs — we’re all part of the Wheel of Life. The cycling and passing of seasons, fruitful and full of promise, flowering seeds of inspiration, all always leading to withering, death, dormancy before pushing up buds from the frozen earth anew.
The prompt, therefore, is conjure and craft some creative works inspired by fertility, birth (and even, if you like, death).
Make it seasonal… Make it personal… Make it beautiful.
Responses in poetry and fiction for us here at Rainbow Salad please. — Sadie
