Ruth A. Rouff

The Thirteenth Sign

I was born under
the sign of
Marilyn:

While she was
posing,
legs splayed
over a subway
grate in NYC,
my mother was
busy, same
week, same
year, having
me.

What would Marilyn
say to this?
I imagine
she'd look wide,
blue-eyed for a
moment, a bit
started, then
offer up,
innocently enough,
"Well, someone
had to
be."

Born, that is.

But I never
felt like a
Virgo...too
much of
a slob.

Creation is
messy, and
to the
baby involved,

birth is
an
ugly

thing.

more by Ruth A. Rouff