Father, Son and Holy Shit

Well, ya know, lovies, my life, it's a funny story. Even the soapy arias lend a chuckle, if not a slap n' a tickle. Tongue in cheek.

I don't illustrate the exact happenings here, I've never got down and dirty that way. I open the door a crack and let you peer in, see, but even in the lava lamp light the illusion holds sway.

So, let's hit the shit, shall we? Why not! 'Cuz today a sudden spotlight of the Freak Show variety landed on my nonplussed figure as I attempted to escape. Sirens blaring, dogs barking, and still I don't believe it should have come as any real surprise.

In the past year I found out that I have a relatively harmless heart condition that causes me to stop breathing in the middle of the night, lost my best friend, was told by 2 GYNs that I am infertile, cried more than I ever have in the first 31-years of my life, was diagnosed with epilepsy, and then told by the 3rd GYN...Hey! You're pregnant!

Nothing else should come as a shock, nothing. Albeit painful days of "what do I do now?" as I found myself alone in the abstract joy of glow. I understood...this was not planned, right? It still hurt. A bright light in the foray of crap being flung was now another shitty version.

But wait...there's more. After I gave in, acquiesced, I was told to wait. Wait! God, what for? The idea of it was already killing me and it wasn't my idea. I held my breath. I held my tongue.

Tech: You are going to need another sonogram, there's an abnormality here. Do you have a OB-GYN?

Sun: Um...yeah. What's the matter?

Tech: I think he or she should discuss that with you. I'll print out the blood and urine test results and fax it to their office.

A week sweating. My feet dangling off the end of the vinyl examination table, the buzz of electronics, the fucking picture of daisies in a fucking field of Teletubby sunshine plastered to the ceiling above my head.

Dr. W: Well, this a first for me. Wow.

Shooting up in my seat, feet still planted firmly in those booted stirrups with that long dong dick wand up my twat, I turned to get a better look at what he was aiming at.

1, 2, 3. Yes, my lovies, three separate heartbeats. A woman, infertile, without the aid of drugs or surgery had pulled off what only 1% of the female population can do.

I just hit the baby lottery.

Triplets.

AscenSIoN

empty, empty she
without need

the girl stands in a circle of pseudo-friends
knees together, hands covering a salty, pale face
click your heels
Calgon, take me away

she had no voice, no tone, no rhyme or reason
no structure or opinion
spinach unseasoned
cooked too long
served up on a cold plate
thrown out with the fish bones
rotting in stench

soulful, soulful she
taking heed

silent young thing, neutral and clean with a pretty red cupid
arms folded, eyes to the ground
a wall the size of Montana
wagons circled, fire high

and don’t come to me for a looky-see; poster child of the 7 Deadlies
Pink Floyd, fuckin’ punk
never saw the lot of it
chump, swallow hard on the vision quest of a Valkyrie
riding the air of seduction n' avidity
do they plunder?
ask again and get your just desserts

it seers
this heat
her tears found a well
and I a wing