A sterile gloved hand
Reaches in, to measure the readiness of
An expectant womb, ripe with life.
Sterile covered mouths
Shouting hurried commands above
A woman’s cries.
Tearful eyes, filled with strife.
Flesh and blood
Pulsing, moving, tension growing; suddenly . . .
A bloody showing.
The infant’s birth is imminent.
Now awaiting competent sterile hands to receive
A living, breathing tiny person
Into a sterile world that only worsens,
As evidenced by initial screams.
And the woman’s body,
Now wracked with pain, weakens.
‘Oh, sweet bliss of father’s kiss upon mother’s
Stretched-out skin, when baby safely slept within.’
Mother knew . . .
Who within her body grew.
The infant knew his mother’s voice,
Her moods, her touch . . . and she knew his.
No denial here existed.
No identity here was twisted.
Born this day a living person,
Whom society must now manipulate
With the many self-serving problems it creates.
Paperwork, medical and legal records;
The only ‘valid’ proof of nature’s efforts?
Proof of insurance gives clerks assurance
This identity is real,
Not one he did ‘steal.’
Imagine! Just imagine . . .
If all those documents disintegrated . . .
Would we all be ‘invalidated?’
Are we . . .
Nothing more than . . .
A ‘Paper Identity?”
© Kat Ryan 1991
Here is the story behind Paper Identity