Just bc it is prosaic
And an ordinary happening
Doesn’t mean it wasn’t miraculous.

Each of us came to be here
More of less the same way.

Our mothers held us in their body
The womb.
Carried us, fed us with their blood
Shared their warmth with us

Through swollen ankles
And 40 lbs
And exahaustion that knows no name.

They kept us alive.
Their hope.
The evidence of their sacredness.

Are men sacred like this? 
So close to the creator.
Each woman is made in the image of God.
To be creator
And life bringer

And it is no small task.

It is a journey filled with risk and sacrifice.
And worry. (Is the baby still moving inside you? Will it survive? Will I survive?)
And fear.

And yet here we all are.
As if we were not dragged into this life through our mother’s waters
The first place we were baptized
The first place we learned to swim.

I am a god damn miracle 
And I will bow before no man.
Especially those who think this is easy work
Just bc it is ubiquitous.