Women have the censor between their legs,
The fiery oven of consuming warmth;
The womb is perihelion, to the stars,
Who have last word on who comes,
And of what each spirit may be composed.
Vulcan minds the burning embryos,
Which thicken and build like flames,
Body parts from a secret blood-ridden forge,
Growing larger quickly, like a froth of bubbling lava
While the umbilicus writhes, in silent ballets.
The heat builds till the plug is expelled,
With great gulags of blood and debris,
A baby god is born, an expert duplicate
Of the parents- and Mars will be put off
His future battles, for a fortnight of years.
The fetus is imploded stardust,
Impossible distances bound in time;
The raging autoclave that weights our bodies
With rare elements not commonly found;
Still, the new body holds traces of the old:
Courage hails from some family tree,
Now hidden in the thick of history.
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hidden-in-the-thick-of-history/
