Poem for the First Born:
After twenty-seven hours
Of blood and pain and stoic fear
They placed you on my chest
And I felt my soul
Exit my body
And hover somewhere near the ceiling
Before settling into your tiny chest
With a sigh and a blink of your eyes
And then I knew
Why they say we’re a vessel
For I was a shell
Where a woman had been
And my purpose now
Was to nourish my soul
As it grows inside of you
And I know that one day
When you’re older
Or grown
My soul will float back into me
But for now, my child, it lives
Within you
And merely visits me
Via your little smile each day
When my last child was born
A planned unplanned induction
With scary prognosis
A doula, a doctor, so many nurses
And a worthless epidural
I had a ring of women around me
Cheering loudly with each screaming push
You can do it
Almost there
Keep going, don’t stop now
So that I felt like a gold medal winner
When they placed you on me
And my soul that was habituating in my first born
Snug at home
Grew roots through his heels
And cavorted under the pavement the 1 mile from our house
To the hospital where it climbed
To floor 10 labelled labor recovery
Finding the last born and twining in his toes
And then creeping like vines into my navel
Three root threads
Tethered to one soul
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