Sacred space in the suburbs

.

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.

.