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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