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Published On: Sun, Apr 17th, 2011

The Poetry of Nancy Ruffin: The Chosen

As a Latina woman, family has always been the cornerstone of my life because for Latinos family means everything. Family has never been something that I’ve had to think about because it is a part of me, it’s my DNA, it’s my heart, it’s my blood and without it I would be nothing. When I got married 10 years ago starting a family was something that I knew that I wanted but was in no rush to start. I was 23 years old and had plenty of time to start working on babies or so I thought. At 33 and childless I am starting to hear the loud ticking of my biological clock and now that I am emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and financially ready motherhood seems to be evading me.

What seems to come so easily for some can be a virtual uphill battle for others and we never realize this until we are the ones battling what seems to be a lost cause. The following poem is written for all those women that long to be mothers but still have not been chosen to receive that blessing.
 
 
The Chosen
They say the child chooses the mother
Before they are conceived.
They search and search until they
Find the perfect place to settle in
Like 1492 Columbus did
In search for a new world.
Yet here I am…
a woman not worthy to
hold the title of mother for
no child has chosen me
to be its home
life sentenced protector~~
Created to breathe life into its lungs
Birth seeds of hope from my ovaries
that will bloom silk petals of the heart
Beauty wrapped up in
golden satin sheets of new beginnings
Carrying within it a shock of ambiguity,
A soul thought up
But undelivered.
Magnificent one, all mine,
A mirror perched
Beyond my reach,
A colossal presence, you sting
with continuity underneath my skin
You are in the ark of my blood
in the river of my bones
in the crests of my muscles
in the ligaments of my hair
in the wit of my hands
in the smear of my shadow
You are everywhere
And nowhere simultaneously
Driven by the restless urge to create
I am inseminated with cultural reminders
of what it means to be a woman.
The woman of the house
Maid to clean,
wash,
cook,
take care of my husband
and when the time comes
bear his child.
But I sit still and wait.
I am a broken clock
that doesn’t tick
My time has not come.
I have not been chosen
to miss those cycles
of the moon rising within
My womb weeps blood tears,
the months the shards of grief begin
flowing through me and out of me
iridescent stem of womanhood.
For the sea of faith,
was too once full
I see you behind
a thin-walled glass veneer of time.
Not meant to be, not born
Yet omnipresent, brown-eyed, laughing,
blowing caramel kisses in the wind.
Above the air I breathe
heavy rainclouds
finally release their pain
ragged currents flow down my cheeks
all of your beauty, has come to an end
I solemnly mourn the death of a dream
Because the nature of life has made it so.

– 
Nancy

 

The Poetry of Nancy Ruffin: The Chosen