.
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.
.
pied hill prawns 
Love it Andrew. Conjures wonderfully vivid memories. Almost makes me want to do it again… almost!
Great to hear from you Hannah. I hope you guys do have another.
Laughing, crying and re reading it. Thank you, its beautiful.
I’m so pleased you stopped by Trudles. I’m glad you enjoyed this it. See you Sunday at Speedpoets.
Are you a father again already or is it a memory of a past birth? Beautiful Andrew!
=*
Another boy, Kenia. (Which is why i’ve been off the radar for a week or so) It was an amazing home birth and we’re all stoked. Thank you for your comments and support.
This is lovely, Andrew. Congratulations, on both the baby and the poetry. 🙂
Oh, boy!
Otherwise lost for words…
Congratulations Andrew! And a great poem to boot!
what an image these words create:
“Her sisters recreate a womb
out of soft light around her.”
Josiah = Joy.
Life’s most constant source of fun;
surely its greatest joy:
is the raising of a little son.
Beautiful, beautiful boys!