Black Sapphire Fountain

after she gave birth
my mother took me to be born

to a hospital of gospels and frankincense
where bent statuettes crowded solemn walls
and crimson candles awaited flame
their twisted, black wicks begging to be burned

our doctor wore traditional white
and while windows sighed sapphire light
that leaked through their stained flesh
he looked like I imagine a ghost would
translucent in the purifying sun
beside a baptismal fountain.

my parents spoke only "lawrence" to him
smiling back above his folded palms
he cupped them in water and blessed my head
etching a cross for my mind to carry
how it grew with the child
like an invisible limb

It might’ve been years since then,
But I had just left the womb-
Once again.