Rebirth by Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz

You give your brother and sister no indication of your plans regarding
your mother’s funeral. If you are attending. You could say the
distance to travel is too far, too costly.

This might be true.

This might be untrue.

In your absence, perhaps they will cite reasons of their own making.
They may be truths. They may be untruths.

You will not go because you can give a literal answer to the question
the pastor of your childhood raised each baptism: Can a man return to
his mother’s womb?

She bore you in pain, raise you in the same. Her nature was nut to
nurture: She seemed programmed to ridicule, to destroy. You will
admit she was not a complete monster—never a Sunday cake without you
licking the bowl—but under stress, and there was tremendous struggle
in your lives, she was evil unleashed.

You stayed away.

Through your own pain, you bore new life. You cut the umbilical cord,
became separate. You became your own.