.
The room crinkles plastic sheeting,
stepping softly, we pause
to help her focus.
.
All senses gather again
inside walls, to hold a meeting
for a minute.
.
This is a room for women. I clamp
a hose to the tap, filling the pool
with warm waters.
.
Her sisters recreate a womb
out of soft light around her.
Busy, hushed, pause again, carry on.
.
Trade like hands push and probe,
‘Position is good. Don’t
push yet. Let it happen.’
.
She stands alone in labour,
supported from a distance
of a glass of water.
.
Ruptured water balloon drains
insulation, coconut saddled into pelvis,
pressing for a three-inch journey.
.
Another set of leg cramps
down my belly. This body knowing
what to do, taking over.
.
The walls, quiet street
and sacred night accept the noises
of a first breath and cry.
.