20 hours into labor

We wait,
at the gates to her body,
respectful sentinels
alert for the child who will arrive.

Time is an endless slow spin,
as pain in a tide,
rises and falls
through her.

The monitor counts out
a baby cadence,
a count down without numbers.

She grows serious,
battle weary warrior,
straps and tubes,
a thin white sheet
her only armor.

She extends one pale cool foot to me
and I take it in my hands and squeeze her heel.
Reverence and love in my touch,

I draw my fingers firmly across her arch,
as another wave comes,
lifting her slowly up
easing that tiny life
slowly toward the door.
where we wait.