They are big hips that give birth to a child. They are generous hips that cradle the unborn with definiteness and steel limbs. The hips take their space from the place in the heart and in the soles of the feet. The hips move in orbit around the child as they walk and bend and sit and dance and . . . other things. Inside, a babe will roll and swim and listen and hear. The hips keep up their pressure and the child continues to grow. One day the child will be strong enough be born, through the hips of the mother, into the cradle of the world.
This is a piece in tribute to Lucille Clifton’s poem “In Tribute to My Hips,” and in loving homage to my own children, who remind me frequently that they love me. I am a very fortunate individual indeed.
He cupped the house in his hands. It was important to protect it.
She saw what he was doing. “What good is that?” she asked. “It won’t make a difference.”
He thought Aphrodite was being cruel. “I want to prevent it from being destroyed.”
She laughed. “As if you could keep Zeus from smashing something he wants to destroy,” she said. “I’m outta here.”
He held on. He might only be a demi-god, but his child was in that house and he wanted to keep her alive. He had a right, didn’t he? He knew he shouldn’t have given into temptation in the first place, he should have left mortals alone. But, he had wanted to know what it was like to love a mortal. And it was all he’d hoped for. But then they’d been found out, Hera had insisted Zeus destroy both the woman and child he loved.