Being Born: Year Two

I write poetry. I usually write quickly- like closing my eyes before jumping off the high dive, I take a deep breath, shut my brain off, and by the time I hit the water, it’s done.

Of course that’s the easy part. The hard part comes with agonizing over a comma, or a line break. This part takes time. This need for time prevents me from “finishing” a poem, insofar as a poem can be finished. This is why I have them saved on my phone but never share them.

All this is all to say: here is a poem I wrote. It is a rough draft, but it is the moment Now, and I wanted to share.

Happy Birthday Pip. Love you to pieces.

Being Born

I am counting the minutes
Reliving
Remembering
Two years ago tonight
The end of the tunnel closing in
As I opened and
breathed…
breathed….

Two years ago tonight
The drums were beating
The waters swaying
The earth shifting
Bursting open for you.

Your father and I
We breathed you into existence that night
We panted and prayed you into our arms.

I thought of you
Being born
Wondering what it felt like on the inside
(I had the outside covered)
Wondering if you were scared or,
hopefully, alert and alive,
anticipating me.

I could cry now,
envisioning it, your slow and
hallowed entrance through my body,
Every road and thunder and contraction leading to me
Every incredulous cry pulling us simultaneously
closer together and
further apart.

I recall it clearly, more so than yesterday, this perfect night of your birth.
How I trusted,
Waited
Listened
Answered
Waited for you

My perfect daughter
A dewdrop of joy
New
So new
Immediate
Only you
in this moment, and this one, and this one
My precious heart
Skin melting into my skin
Eyes meeting my eyes
Why, hello, little one.

Suddenly realizing language’s limits
My own inadequacies…
and perfection.

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2 Responses to Being Born: Year Two

  1. Joyel says:

    *tears* perfection!

  2. Jennifer says:

    *gasp* Thank you, Carrie.

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