nestled in the womb
of her mother's belly
(could've been a boy)
asleep, patiently waiting
for the first hard
twist of the wrist
that verifies life


staring there through closed
eyes of infanthood
into questionable heaven and hell
feeling with her
puckered lips on her mother's breast
tugging at her
father's beard, as it tickles
brings the expression of
what is later her first
laught, her first joy


crawling around on her knees
and holding onto the
chair, tht gives support
for that very first step
Smiling, muttering her first words
was it mama or was it papa?


Unsheltered, un chained, free
to explore, that is
within the limits of poverty
and other frustrating hells
that one day may come to and end


wondering with all that has
been comprehended
in such a short time
wandering and seeing
so much from her two eyes


returning, confused, baffled
constantly questioning
after experiencing more pain that
...joys, as to whether it
would have been better
to have been
      born or unborn?
FOR MY DAUGHTER
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MARVA
1964-
COPYRIGHT WILLIAM R. I. "EASY" SMITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED