By Shanon Sidell
I owe it to my mother who brought me here.
Or maybe I don’t.
And maybe she didn’t.
Perhaps I pushed my way through the cosmic ethers
A mystery to all..
There we were,
all the angel babies playing and flying
Until our bodies grew too heavy for wings.
We searched for soft, or at least interesting places to land.
She would have blocked my way
had she known,
ricocheted me into the stratosphere
to float and flounder,
to start anew as an atom, or a cocoon
not unlike the butterfly.
As soon as my wings grew large enough to carry me again,
I’d be ready to burst through like a phoenix, one with the sun.
But this time,
there was desperation, will, vision,
a power fiercer than she or me.
I was determined to come through at that moment
regardless of circumstance.
The landing would be hard for both of us.
In an instant,
there we were, endlessly connected, tethered, bound,
despite the rift in our natures
and our debate on how this should begin or end.
I set up shop in her physicality, designating it as my factory
to create my being,
using pieces I brought with me
and scraped from within her walls
taking bits of dust and cement, wires and light.
In Spanish, birth is dar luz,
To Give Light.
For my soul, my spirit, my being, to be
I must steal from hers.
Give or take, the system is rigged.
Matter, never created nor destroyed, merely transformed.
She MUST love me
as I am part of her.
I MUST love her
as she is part of me.
That is the pact.
Though we love, we do not and cannot like each other.
The dark squelches the light, the light destroys the dark.
Her creation clings to my reflection that is hers.
Some mothers cherish giving birth.
It is a gift, a miracle.
For mine, an inconvenience,
Others who would have been my brothers or sisters
did not make it.
She learned from me.
Send them back, block the gates.
“Find somewhere else to go,” she told them.
In truth, they have likely found their way,
to easier, or harder circumstances.
I imagine the unfolding of our collective sibling amnesty.
We begin a chain reaction
for all the other angel baby beings
whose mere perseverance gave them the chance to see light.
In time, either while earthly or heavenly,
the mothers, the ones who gave us—
The ones from whom we took pieces, so that we could have life,
will find their peace, will unravel the system.
Finally, we will be able to love one another,
not because we must,
but simply because we do.