What the Pain Is For

One way to think of it is as a mother, fat with child.
She knows it must grow larger before it can live on its own,
But every day she waits is more pain for her.
She must carry it within her belly.
It must leave her in blood and water.

Another way to know it is through fire.
Burn the outside, scorch the skin.
That smell is you that you never knew before.
The sound is crackle and pop.
The rough scars cover you like leather.

It is to be avoided. Comfort is preferable.
Comfort of couch and retirement.
Comfort of beach chair and hot tub.
Comfort of woman lying beside me,
In coffin, six feet down.

It is a memory of the future.
It is a warning of things past.
It is the ever present choosing
Of will in moment, page turned, book closed.
Ovaries withered. Childless.

It reminds you to suck air into your lungs,
To bless daisies,
To father child, full term,
Ten pounds, nine ounces,
Every ounce earned.