David R. DiSarro
Undressed
I.
Our mothers, undressed,
stretched and screamed
us into a room,
an infinitesimal
body hoisted into view.
They wept, no longer
able to keep us, gave us up
to the world while we rested
for a time, naked, rooting
wildly for the womb.
II.
We fumbled, shed clothes,
and stood uncertain,
as if to say, Here
I am. Undressed,
examined with serpentine
glances, oblique wounds
on our bodies, indisposed,
until one of us
coiled around the other,
the length of a breath
between us.
III.
we often forget
how brutal
a victory
living
can be.
resigned
until we decide
to let go,
as the nurses
squawk
like seagulls
over us,
and we hear
the chimes
from the loud-
speaker, signaling
the end
of visiting hours,
a heavenly voice
undressed in our
ears, telling us
“Time’s up.”