sisters

A poem in progress for my doulas:

This I know for sure:
many years from now
when all detail slips from this memory of my labor
like a young child quickly grows old
(and we forget the cloudy grey of their infant eyes)
I will remember these few things
you gave me in those short hours we stepped together
behind the veil that separates this life from that --
when darkness set her teeth upon me,
when pain cinched its rope around my chest
and squeezed the breath from my lungs
when loneliness crept like a spider into my heart
and threatened to overcome me --
and somewhere in that frightening world
I might've been lost forever.
In that darkness, I felt your hands'
firm touch, heard your strong voice
your breath in sync with mine
and there was dignity where none would have been
dignity before the knife, and your steadfast sisterhood
holding me up, keeping the door closed
on my deepest fear.


and another post-cesarean poem

I have been to this place before:
sweet baby's breath,
hot mother's tears,
slow, aching body
cut down the center.

I have been to this place before
(I remind myself again and again)
of loneliness and despair,
stark beauty and regret,
guilt for my body's sorrow.

What sacrifice a mother makes!
For surely I would've died to bring you here
as so many have before. Twice the knife
of a surgeon released these children
I would not otherwise have.
And who would this mother be,
otherwise?

I have been to this place before,
weeping for a torn middle self
smiling with the secrets of this precious baby
miraculous pleasure bleeding lonely pain.

I have been to this place before
only this time I know I will make it out alive.
I will not stay long.
This time I will turn quietly, gently
and make my way home.