I wrote this poem six years ago. It’s in response to the way male medical professionals have treated women both here and abroad for centuries. I confront the icon of the stork, which has characterized birth in so many ways. It’s a cheap substitute that covers up the realities that surround birth. He represents the voice of critics that have shamed women for their bodies and birth experiences. I am involved in development work and have seen the brazen and cruel way in which women are treated around the world, especially if they are poor. My own birth experiences reflected the same treatment. This is for the ones whose journey to motherhood was not instagram perfect.
Excuse me, Mr. Stork
Have we met?
You weren’t invited, you may see your way out
You, with your long legs and shiny white coat
Smirking at me, down that long stupid beak of yours
You’ve earned nothing
And yet seek reward
Because you’re bored
Mr. Stork
You have not known the bend and break
The loss of shape
That my body did take
To grow a tiny life inside
The endless bouts of hugging the porcelain bowl
The head aches
The pain
The sleepless nights after a 50lb gain
You don’t know the sacrifice every mother makes
We’re taught to picture you flying away into pretty skies
Instead of seeing a woman with a striped belly
And swollen thighs
No
Just you swooping down to ‘deliver’ a baby and good news
You want all the credit without paying your dues
Mr. Stork
Let me remind you that all over the world
Women are dying and so are their girls
Because it’s too damn hard
To raise a woman to know her worth
So every 60 seconds a woman dies giving birth
Because of your greed
Mr. Stork
They are merely nameless, faceless bodies that breed
You don’t see them as people with need
Only lazy helpless mouths to feed
But you know nothing of need
Mr. Stork
Do you know how it feels
Spending weeks and months and years trying to heal
Needing a hand to hold when a life is lost
Blood dripping down your legs
Your heart numb and bit like frost
Do you know how the mama feels
Holding her babe whose first breath was its last
Or the mama who watches one twin live and one pass
Or the ache of a mom who places her baby in another home
Because she knows
There is one better than her own
Do you know the pain of hormone shot 502
Only to have one line show up and not two
In that shade of baby blue
Did you know that some women must choose
Between saving their life
And another baby to lose
Because she has no support
Or hope
Or love
To come to her rescue
Did you know that some women have no choice
And must do what their told
Do you know the grief
Of a mama whose baby
Never wakes up from sleep
Yet she’s expected to keep moving
And hoping
And living
Is life not forgiving
For a mom
Mr. Stork
Do you know what you took from me?
As a young girl, you put ideas in my head
You said my womb was dead
So I lived in bed
And tried to forget
That I am a woman
I fought against this body I believed to be flawed
Trying to drown you out
As you cawed
In my ears
Screeching my biggest fears
As I gasped and sobbed through tears
But finally the life in me came out
One part screaming little boy
The rest pouring on the ground
But I survived
And I am alive
And no one can take this story
IT IS MINE
Now I join the beautiful story of all these women and moms
Worthy to be counted among those called strong
So Go
Be Gone
Mr. Stork
Good bye
I don’t need your wings
I am free
Watch me fly
About the Creator
Deborah Nava
putting myself out there
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