the other day
i found the plastic
bracelet my mother
wore on her wrist
right after i was born
the strip of paper
preserved inside
giving the exact time:
3:10 p.m.
i was horrified
to hold that thin flimsy cuff
in my 39 year old palm
i find the act of birth
worse than suicide
shoved out of nothingness
on a cold afternoon
in january
shivering in my sheen
of blood
the umbilical
a kind of reverse noose
but a noose
nonetheless