Batnadiv HaKarmi, Split Waters, 2013 (Artist Website)
Gesso and pastel on unprimed canvas
90 x 90 cm
Behind the cerulean sheet, the room rings
with a silver light.
The nurse places the parcel on my chest,
a bundle of twigs
wrapped in pink pastel. Here she is,
then. All sound
has become sight, the color of her cry
a muted magenta,
all memory of this moment hushed.
I search for her face
& freeze. Her eye, where is it?
Her right eye?
The first words I speak to my daughter
are of shortage,
of the things we fail to see & the fear
of that void, a socket
in a skull, an emptied vase, a motherless
feeling. Welcome,
little one. It is not for lack or want
of trying that I
didn’t push you out, stuck in the back
tunnel of my exit
as you were. So, your forehead is
v-shaped, blue
& bruised, covers a part of your eye.
So, we travel in two
directions. So,
it begins.