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She stood on the edge of the cliff.
Foam flecked waves smashed loud against the rocks below.
The baby inside her squirmed and moved
with the rhythm and beat of the sound against
her body.
A closer step and pebbles slipped over the edge
pushed by the toe of her scuffed brown shoes.
Tears fell to mingle salt-with-salt as a wave withdrew,
poised, and pushed again toward the hard unyielding land.
Toes over the edge now; arms flung out like a
living cross.
“Father forgive me.”
“Mother forgive me.”
“Lord forgive me.”
“I am not without sin.”
She made the sign of the cross,
head to heart, shoulder to shoulder,
and leaned far forward and screamed
as the land lifted up and
flung her back from the edge.
She lay flat on ground that
moved and shook and the edge
where she had been broke and fell
into the sea.
Screams and shouting lifted her
to sit and then stand.
Her village, her family,
her lover, her home down the
road only a short walk.
“terremoto, earthquake.”
It moved. The land and her baby as
she ran to help, to live, to love,
to cry, to give birth through
saving grace.
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