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
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.