Ray's poem of
Sarah's birth, 1981
Deliverance
When I feel the need
to push
I pant.
Staccato breaths
arrest (temporarily)
the head
butting the dark,
ease the incumbent
flesh, allay the little
agonies of labour
until the quick,
complete surrender
to the weight of
rushing water. And
like water
like fire
the baby comes –
brutal, cruel,
and simply beautiful.
Then the flames
about the flesh
expire, and the body
bruised and bloodied
lies wasted on the bed,
broken like the husk
of some exotic fruit.
And after being blind
at birth
my mind now wakes
and leaps around the room
yet cannot rest or settle
until it holds the child
like vacuum a void
or fire a fever –
a void
only joy can fill,
a fever
only love assuages.
“Being at home can be fun, insulating, relaxed, boring or isolating ... depending on how the day is going.”*
School holidays are almost over in my part of the world – six long weeks of noise and squabbling balanced by hot, lazy days at the beach or the pool with lots of daring exploits and laughter. Many of our days were spent at home, basking in simple pleasures like baking, playing games or outdoor pursuits – trying to relax the everyday routines of school-morning bustle and ‘having to be somewhere on time’. However pleasant, I must admit to being relieved that life gets back to normal next week, and I can reclaim some of my own time for writing again!
* From Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007