By Corinna Rae Reilly

It’s as simple as this: once

we knew everything, then took

shape as human. Reeds woven

into basket, this container

that is your body. Simply: you

were born. You were born

to a lineage losing

its way. There were burned

maps, smoke inhaled

by sky, songs held in the throats

of our mothers, swallowed

& forgotten. But nothing can be

forgotten for good.

Know this: you are not

to blame. You were born

with the frantic pulse

of city in your wrists,

impulse to beat your own

heart, its persistent

unwelcome whispers to look

for something more. Once

there were stars, but our lights

made them lazy. There were birds

whose songs in springtime awakened

the dead, and trees

who showed us how to give

ourselves over to the pull

of mystery we’ve been taught

to call the end. But nothing ends. Nothing

is forgotten. We were born to trace the maps

of our bodies toward the weak

beat in our chests, dig – dig –

dig – toward the faint songs

of our mothers held in our own tired

necks, toward the pull of mystery.

We call it the end but we were born

to remember: it teems

with beginnings, birdsong

Corinna is thankful to live surrounded by trees in New York's Hudson Valley where she shares her home with four wonderful beings - her husband, two dogs, and cat. While her poems have been published in Pleiades, The Submission, and elsewhere, that was about a decade ago. In that time, she has not stopped creating but has mostly kept her work to herself. After a long hiatus, she is once again nudging her work out into the world.