Challenge
Challenge of the Week CXCIX
From being encased by uterine fluid to the bright light of day one: Write a poem about being born.
1980
being one of the last of the Carter babies,
I wish I had
breathed the devisive
but somehow unsullied
1970s atmosphere
just once
before being trapped,
sleep
walking,
into the spinningblades of
what would be
the last century.
seven years removed from you, brother,
how could mother be so selfish?
what possessed you all to think everything would just
even
out?
A whole generation of the broken
does not a republic make,
or a nation
or a home.
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