The time that I was in my mother’s womb
has long since washed away from memory,
but I was woven there as on a loom
till when it had become too small for me.
Now I am living in a larger room,
as by divine design I’m meant to be,
and I have had the chance to grow and bloom,
and love my mother though we disagree.
A church has also been a kind of mother,
in forming not my flesh but soul in it,
yet wombs in this one way are like each other:
there comes a time when I no longer fit.
Pulled from the wombs, at first I felt forlorn,
but only in this way could I be born.
Mario A. Pita