I wrote this poem about a year ago, when I was still pregnant, but my hormone-addled brain promptly lost the thing before I could give it to my midwife. I recently found it tucked into a notebook and am posting it here for all as a sign of my thanks.
Ode to a midwife
The neon sign above her desk says OPEN.
I get the joke and the suggestion.
Beyond the back door, ajar, birds zip and bees buzz in the garden.
On the sidetable near the easy chair
Is a bowl of cherries.
That is not just a metaphor.
It is truth.
She made me art,
A rubbing of two leaves, in blue.
She made me cry, an unlocking of my fears.
She sang a song,
Read a poem,
Told me to pee in a cup
And hop on the scale -
But only if I wanted to.
She listened to the baby's heart,
Heard the beats and hiccups,
Felt a head
And waited patiently for the day that he arrived.
1 comment:
Thanks Tina, love the 'weigh myself and pee in a cup...but only if I wanted to' - that alone captures the philosophy so simply. I met you in the spring of 2007, you were promoting your history of birth book somewhere outside of Boston and I was a midwifery student from Canada who drove down to get a dose of midwifery from a MANA conference and got my book autographed. Hope you don't mind if I print it and frame it for the office....bev langlois
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