Giving birth is like jazz, something from silence, then all of it. Long, elegant
boats, blood-boiling sunshine, human cargo, a handmade kite —
Postpartum. No longer a celebrity, pregnant lady, expectant. It has happened;
you are here, each dram you drain a step away from flushed and floating, lush
and curled. Now you are the pink one, the movie star. It has happened. You are
here, and you sing, mewl, holler, peep, swallow the light and bubble it back,
shine, contain multitudes, gleam. You are the new one, the movie star, and
birth is like jazz, from silence and blood, silence then everything, jazz.
Elizabeth Alexander
Crave Radiance
