The title is not a typo. I saw Wilson yesterday. He had figs to offer. No better summer treat than fresh figs. And he thanked me for writing a “Spice of Life” about him last week. So I decided to make Slice of Life into Spice of Life in honor of his good mistake.
Two weeks ago today I had a hysterectomy. I’ve been amazed by the kindness of my circle. I’ve received flowers, cards, cakes, food, figs, and numerous other ways people have shown gratitude to me. There’s this interesting twist of things when one who is a caretaker becomes the cared for. I’ve had to loosen some control and let people help. I called my neighbor to pick up my dog’s meds at the vet. I allowed my daughter’s father-in-law to sweep my kitchen floor. It’s a weird space to be in. Needy. Grateful. Humble.
Last week, on the day of the surgery, I got an email writing prompt from The Fishbowl. Children’s author Kelly Bennet sends a 7 minute quick write each week. You can see the prompt here.
In my 7 minute writing response, I wrote a eulogy for my uterus. Each stanza is homage to each of my three daughters’ births.
Betty, Wilson’s wife, says I need to breathe in green gratitude to replace my uterus. I’m honestly not there yet. My body is still quite angry about the whole thing. Maybe next week, Betty? But I did, after a few critiques, take out the slaughtered pig reference.
My uterus was a vibrant thing
after Lucille Cliftonwas an egg in a nest
of brambles and moss holding
a suckling embryowas a vase for spring flowers
bursting forth in April
shouting to the skywas a silk blanket
wrapped around the soul
of the wrongs of the worlddid not walk out on me,
was taken for its uselessness
a holy sacrificeI groan for all it’s grown
and known–
blessed womb.Margaret Simon, June 27, 2023
Reflections on the Teche 