I was hidden under a dense blanket
Harris Tweed
hessian, maybe
centre stage and feuding with my own suffering
I was tightly bound
I was blind
I couldn’t see that
with metal implements, me a feverish mess,
a baby was born
butterscotch hair, refined perfection
but the facts were punctured
I couldn’t see
that a baby was born and
simultaneous,
a mother was made in me
I didn’t know where to find
my own strength
how to nurture, stay steadfast
how to keep the creature alive
he was drinking from me, and I was stumbling on
the trauma of birth, feeling perpetual frost even
when the sun shone
But darling, this morning
through the open living room door
I noticed you
look into his eyes
and I saw the transformation
I witnessed you, paralysed
frozen in devotion
I saw you hollow, scooped out and bare
laid before him
giving all that you are, in one simple stare
I seen the depths you will go to
I seen how far you’ve already gone
I know that your heart too is being suffocated
outside your body
held, squashed, captured by
tiny new human hands
I understand now
that this boy
cracked light into our life,
wrenched open the curtains
made us new gifts of grace and wonder
This morning I saw you,
really saw you
tender and scared
tracing circles on his forehead
as he dozed and you stared
I saw you right beside me on this
new trek that we’re on
I saw you reaching for my hand
in the sleepless haze of dawn
For my husband
for my friend
for my best friend in this life—
I see that
our baby arrived though a winter storm
bundled, blinking, brand new,
and under the watch of that victorious morning
a father was born in you too.
Kirsty Crawford is a writer currently on maternity leave. She works for a marine conservation charity and studied for a BA(Hons) in Creative Writing & Journalism at the University of Strathclyde, plus an MSc in Conservation Biology at Napier University.
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