A57
Collective Memory
Excerpt from novel: A longitudinal case study into motherlessness.

two asleep

an amplified heart beating
boom boom, boom, booom, boom boom boom
arrhythmic and wonderous
womb-like
because it is my womb
my womb
and i am alone
with her
we are quiet,
she is sleeping, probably
and i am again restless

i am being smothered by her organs
but there is room enough.
warmth like i’ve never felt since
all around, every nerve ending touching
perfect maternal warmth;
curled up inside of an eclipse

she shifts in her half sleep, constantly half-aware of me
but trying to get me up from over her weary spine
i oblige her.
in this way, we love one another.
i cuddle up with her lower intestines
patted into a pillow
we are one and i love her.

all my therapy and sensory deprivation and trust exercises
have only been an attempt to find this
perfect oneness
me attached to her neural network
she sharing her sorrows and joys and fears with me
as nourishment is rushed in by the truckload.
i am held up in a reddish sort of black
the same you’d find holding a flashlight behind your palm
but much darker
more faint
less light than you’d realize was even light.
it is the color of selfless.

she passed as i exited
we waved to each other in the gray redness
i miss her and i have found her here
this is beauty
may i never leave this
this is beauty.

where have you been, mother?
i have so much to ask you
here in my womb
here in your tomb
but i have forgotten everything
and only want to stay curled up
swaddled in this fleshy blanket

you are awake now,
you are waddling to the kitchen table
glasses clink distantly
and muffled voices speak
voices i didn’t understood but now can almost make out
sounding like sounds blasted through some subwoofer a mile off.
but i can make out some of their words,
words like
“good” and “yes” and “kicking” and “no”
mostly stacatto
quick and hard words

then her voice rumbles through us both
sweetly, melodically.
i've never heard her speak
this is too much
i may throw up
red-black fading to sour-stomach greens
i need breath
i don’t have enough air my lungs are too small
let me out, let me out

whiteness, like first sight,
fills my vision as doctor pulls out earphones and visor
i am dripping
i am gasping
i am weeping
i am reborn

Samson Manoah