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Omphaloskepsis [Poetry]

by Jennifer Met

  • a mystical contemplation of one’s navel
  • yet my daughter seems more interested
  • in my own belly button than her own
  • jabbing her finger into clinging darkness
  • as if to say I came from here and somehow
  • so did you—and the new baby kicks
  • at his amniotic seabed—a quick pressure
  • causing waves across the globe’s surface too—
  • buttes jutting forth and buckling just as fast—
  • I pet her hair remembering our early days
  • when her skull was an Earth of tectonic plates
  • and her molten soft-spot boiled thoughts
  • in such violent primitive cries—thoughts
  • not fully formed—but how we eventually found
  • our own rhythm as she slowly moved
  • toward a Pangaea—and now she settles herself
  • upon my stomach as she drifts to sleep
  • the way a pheasant crouches close to the ground
  • right before an earthquake—it can feel it coming
  • before the rest of us—somehow can sense
  • that its whole world is about to ripple in upheaval
  • and I contemplate my belly button—wonder
  • at how the earth recycles itself—how we share
  • the word mother—already shifted from mine to me



Jennifer Met has work published or forthcoming in Gulf Stream, FrogpondApeiron Review, pacificREVIEW, Moon City Review, Haibun Today, the Red Moon Anthology, and elsewhere.  She lives in North Idaho with her husband and two children, Mira and Harlan.

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