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Sonnet to a Prenatal Stranger

2010 March 24
by J. Scott Mosel

I might be taken down by a sniffle,

or a strong hand could do the job, a kiss

from the wind of creation. It’s my soul.

A stranger before birth. It is morning

on the starry banks of eternity–

we undress in the first room we made love.

You undress. I am dead. I am not born

for a long time. You are empty, vanquished,

heading home. There are excuses. I know.

We are made for them, but today let us

hold hands and pray. Forgiveness — the only

miracle we need, is on down the bend,

on the other side. Come on, let’s rub hands–

spark again, later we will learn to sin.


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