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MacQueen’s Quinterly: Knock-your-socks-off Art and Literature
Issue 2: March 2020
Poem: 180 words
By Tova Hinda Siegel

Sunday’s Circle

My daughter’s labor is musical. 
The depth of the cello, 
the range of the piano, solo 
of the violin, the strength of the kettles. 

She opens for breath, solitary in her mission. 
Moans deep in her throat form familiar notes 
as she begs time to stop, to go, 
to empty her. 

Now on her hands and knees, she moves 
her child through her body. Eyes, nose, mouth. 
Soon her baby’s head will open her 
and I will pass my grandson to my daughter. 

He will reach for her breast. 
As her arms will reach for him, 
as my arms once reached 
for the baby that was her. 
I remember her pink skin, red hair, 
perfect suckle. 

Now, I will her to open 
as the bloom of countless flowers. 
My hands caress the black-haired scalp 
as it pushes forward. 

I wait, but I am not able to rush 
the perfection 
of this symphony 
though the sky and moon 
wish it to be so.
Tova Hinda Siegel’s
Issue 2, March 2020

work has appeared in Salon.com, I’ll Take Wednesdays, On The Bus, and several anthologies. She holds a BA degree from Antioch University and an MS from the University of Southern California. A midwife, cellist, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, Tova has studied with poets Jack Grapes, Tresha Faye Haefner, and Taffy Brodesser-Akner. She and her husband live in Los Angeles.

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