- Non-Erotic Poetry
- 20 hours into labor
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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.
- COMMENTS
champagne1982over 16 years ago"a baby cadence, a countdown without numbers." This is really evocative of a soldier marching up to the gates, ready to do battle with living. Sometimes there's a bit too much telling in this poem, "Reverence and love in my touch" - I would have liked to see this illustrated with a metaphor explaining how awesome she is and how miraculous the event.
Thanks for sharing.
