The last remnants of Brendan’s umbilical cord fell off this morning, looking similar to a dried-fossilized worm, or sheep entrails dehydrated. For the moment it lies on the counter, out of reach of both baby and cat, a possible icon wanting to remind me of ancestral pasts. I think the Plains Native Americans carried the remains with them, in a small muslin-like sack worn about the neck. A symbol of heritage or a traditional birth rite. Is this a fiction placed in my head by false memory? The concept carries a weight of practicality somehow: the mummified flesh showing acknowledgement of one’s past.

And of the ultimate end for the journey

Despite the late hour,
still feel the pull of verses
wanting attention.


  1. Beautiful.

    I really adore how you're documenting these

    precious finite moments.

    I still have a piece of umbilical cord from my

    youngest child - it looks like regurgitated

    liquorice stained with flour.

    Have a lovely day.




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