A Pedestal for Death and for Mother

When I was yet a fetal organism
Having no life of my own,
Enveloped as I was within the liquid touch of the uterus,
I had no other purpose than to fulfill the natural plan of things—
To charge headlong into the unknown
With a gasp and a sob,
In life outside of mother.

I was always told to avoid
Head-first onslaughts into unfamiliar places,
But what was I to do?
Pushed from the one end,
Pulled from the other,
Swung free,
Attacked from the rear.

Swaddled in white hospital linens
There I lay,
A thing of the world.
Packaged.
Delivered.
Bewildered.
Amazed!

Then one of the first things I learned,
From which I drew major conclusions and parallels,
Is that Uncle Ralph died.
Uncle Ralph died!
But what was he to do?
Having no reason to halt the natural plan of things,
He died in his sleep.
Packaged.
Delivered.
Bewildered.
Amazed!

This poem is from Collected Poetry of Thomas A. Ekkens—Early Works.