... across the county
thinking of the toddler-assisted birth over there
and the woman who labored in that tiny bathroom on that street.
I remember how I drove up to that blue house
and heard my client screaming her baby out her vagina;
I didn't make it inside for the birth.
I criss cross surface streets I never knew existed.
I lost my way four times going to this home visit.
Now, I can find it in the dark blindfolded.
I can smell the jasmine outside her door.
Our city has a dam?
I lovingly laughed that these two women,
both so lonely,
lived a block away from each other.
They are now best friends.
I didn't know you lived on the ocean.
Like a spider,
my silk goes from end to end,
under and over,
again and again,
inside houses and back outside again,
through traffic crawl spaces
weaving crazily when a mom cries, "hurry!"
Like a midwife,
I thread my way
across the county.