Hand of God

I blew out the candle with nervous breath.
We have been waiting so long for a son
Or daughter.
My Will, he clasped my hand under the blanket
As we sat up in bed and tried to look asleep.
Only God knows how long we waited for him
To come.
Maybe two hours?- before dawn, when Will
Had already slipped into sleep twice,
And his beautiful eyes were red-rimmed,
And my lips had begun to tremble in sorrow,
God appeared, in the ceiling corner
Furthest away from our bed.
He had white angels with him, who looked Down upon us with joyous
smiles.
God did not smile - his tone, however,
Was kindly:
"Behold ye the soul of your baby boy!"
He flew from God's hands where,
Moments ago, there had been nothing.
As he floated toward my womb
I could see our wall of mud through him.
He was milky, but not milky enough,
And this was where I was to come in.
He needs me.
Will made not a sound, nor movement, as our
Baby soul pushed into me, and the corner
Was just the corner again.

PART II (UTERUS)
My Will doesn't hold me
As he used to hold me.
Stephen has grown, and doesn't
Run to me, but works all day
In the fields with his father;
Man and man.
I am haggard, and occasionally
Need to be restrained.
I pray to God all day
On all days that He
Might come again, and
Bring another soul.
I know that it is futile -
Will hardly touches me,
Excepting when I have not
Pleased him as I should.

* * *

Children throw stones
At my house - I have seen
Stephen, not stopping them.
Where has my little boy gone?
And where is my husband,
My husband of lost times?
Sometimes, the children yell
That he sleeps with whores
In the city. I ignore them:
Poor things, they know not
Of what they speak.

* * *

I cry all day.
My bleeding no longer comes.
Yesterday, I sliced my finger -
The turnip was still
In its bag.
My Lord, why hast thou
Forsaken me?

* * *

William comes in, with
Whore on his breath. I am
Pale, and say nothing,
But when it comes to the
Serving of food, I fling
His precious bellyful at him,
And rage, and wreak havoc.
Men are called to hold me
Down: the priest declares that it is
My uterus. I am held
Upside down, with foul oils at
My nose, to force it back
To its rightful place. They tell me I
Am wicked, and I believe them.
I can feel my uterus,
Moving back down my body
To where it belongs, a
Restless, wanting thing.