When you go through the birth-hole of divorce,
you emerge wet and green,
covered in a slippery film of life-affirming water.
Blood,
bile,
mucous,
meconium,
suffocating amniotic fluid
laced in a warm lanugo sweater.
It’s really all just water,
Grace water.

The green fuse from a previous life
is still attached for a while,
until you clamp the cord
and take those first real breaths
before a sudden, and frightening slap
gives you the real world.
Then, the air in your lungs
can only cry
to let people close to you know
you are here.