I am made of earth and some other, unexplainable cause.

There are river beds etched in the palms of my hands,

maps of something greater than the span of one woman’s life.

This blood carries rainfall from the primeval forest,

while the drumming in my chest—which will one day cease to be—

pulses now . . . and now . . . and now . . .

This rare globe is a fertile egg in the nest of space,

saying yes to the infinite dream of generations

My body, this puzzle, these elements borrowed, say yes

to the mystery that birthed me:

This sweet, sweet earth and some other, unexplainable cause

From the Fall 1993 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 10, No. 1)

Text © 1993 by Ruth Wren