Life Cycling
First come the three little words
Then, “I’ll love you ‘til I die”
Vows to share a lifetime as one
Down the aisle into Real Street
Change begins to take hold
She feels faint over nothing
After a march to the drug store, she
Places calls to her doctor and OB
Family planning worked, a baby is on the way
To create life within is a special calling
She doesn’t mind the stringy stretch marks
Nor the RR train to La Maze classes
in order to master the art of patience and breath
while bringing new life into the light
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I remember being pregnant with Riley. Ask women who’s ever been pregnant, and they’ll probably say they felt like the most powerful person in the world. Submerged, cradled within, this growing child… I am getting misty because my girlfriend and bandmate Karen’s daughter Amanda is in hospital just now, dilating and all that good stuff.
Riley is the best thing I ever did. Not just giving birth, but raising her, watching her tap out complicated drumbeats from the age of four; seeing her first pictures – and for years to come, finding manga characters scribbled on the margins of homework. Startlingly smart, easy to be with, and wicked talented… she’s a force to be reckoned with, and, as you can see by this photo shoot (body painting, not tattoos), she’s gorgeous. Love you, Riles. Mom
For the Sunday Whirl, the wordle can be found HERE. Check out the other poets as well! Peace and soda crackers for the first trimester (!), Amy
Trifecta wanted a dialog in exactly 33 words. Not the most pleasant topic, but until we ensure all women have equal access to birth control, this conversation will keep happening, with different outcomes. My hope is birth control for all women who want it, and men who will “man up” and use a condom every time, because the Pill isn’t a 100% guarantee… and there are STDs to consider. This will also be my submission to dverse Open Mic Night. Peace and mindfulness, Amy
About the Unexpected Little Visitor
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Thoughts?”
“It’s your body. Do what you want.”
“Funny, it was OUR bodies that night. I’ll book the appointment and send you the bill from my new place.”
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Comes the Revolution…
(For Riley)
Comes the revolution,
I want you in my trench.
Comes the day we say “No more!”
I want you at my side.
I schooled you on our rights;
you’re steeped in the shameful history
of slavery, of suffrage, of civil rights denied,
of how it’s always someone else’s turn
to be not white enough, not male enough,
not straight enough, not American enough;
to be trod upon, to be spat upon
especially via metaphor and the airwaves.
You, a Jew raised in the U.C.C.
(Upfront, Confrontational Christians!)
In your blood, remnants of the Holocaust;
in your training, social justice for all.
That pedigree makes for speaking truth to power,
for passion, for radical, unconditional love.
This revolution will be
one of words, not weapons
Only the undereducated run out of words,
falling back on hate speech and violence.
Though their sound bytes nip at our heels,
we will not run. We will turn and debate.
Comes the revolution, our trench will be
filled with books, journals, and understanding.
So keep sharp your mind, daughter mine
because the revolution is at our door:
The War on Women – our rights,
our bodies, our station, our future.
What we do now is “not for ourselves alone,”
but for all females in generations to come.
We claim our right as citizens of the world
to be who we are, love who we may, and
figure out for our selves what is best
when put to the test of The Pink Stick Follies.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Sunday Scribblings, Revolution – and for dverse Open Mic Night. Also “in the margin” on Poets United. Also for Trifecta: Radical.
The quote “Not For Ourselves Alone” is usually attributed to Elizabeth Cady Stanton, but its first usage came from a man, Marcus Tullius Cicero: “Non nobis solum nati sumus. (Not for ourselves alone are we born.)”
NOTE: When Riley was a senior in high school, I wrote a piece for her yearbook, as did many parents. Mine included the phrase, “Comes the revolution, I want you in my trench.” Since then, she has come out, moved West, entered an art institute, and continues to blossom. Happy birthday, beba.
It seems quite ironic that we are indeed on the verge of an actual revolution, and the stakes could not be higher. We are lucky to have so many enlightened men alongside us in the fight. Let’s hope that the “White is Right and Women Should Shut the Hell Up” militias disband… due to pressure from their mothers!
Sharp Little Pencil 