Welcome to the very first post in my new blog.  I thought I would start with a poem I wrote the other night when taking a break from homework...

What Calling Sounds Like:

These hands are restless
they want to be already
at the opening of women
at the coming of child.
My fingers yearn for the crown
when a women splits herself in two;
It is not something you get use to
miracles are not something to get used to.
No matter the biology & statistics,
the moment a new being enters the world
is forever miraculous.
I have seen it as many times as I have fingers-
some day it will be hundreds
maybe thousands-
thousands of women splitting,
thousands of babies spilling
into these hands.
I am aging gracefully into my calling.
I am humbled greatly by my calling.
It is the calling of babies crying,
of mothers breathing-
deep & humming,
and of countless generations
of wise women whispering.
I read the books,
but it is in an old timey tongue,
deep in my bones
that has me knowing.