The poet asked me, in the midst of my despair,
“Well, what did you expect, my dear?”
Then he took a long pause, as if confused, before leaning in, as if whispering a confidence:
“Have you never seen a birth before?”

I had assumed it was death throes, and said as much, still slow to my initiation in the way of all things, as if I could have somehow stood outside the party—take a different bus, perhaps, and avoiding all this letting go
 
He sat back looked at me as if to say,
“Don’t you know?”
With that sly light bouncing of his eyes, like Venus above the horizon, twinkling with the light of guidance

“Just embrace it and know that all will be very well,” he concluded
Sipping his Earl Gray and smiling

And I only thought but did not utter,
“Easy for you to say”

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