Made Of Human
softly beating rain,
on that ordinary October day -
sitting with my son, knitting mittens
for the unseen hands.
chopping veg, resting on the counter's edge -
breathing deeply into the darkness when called.
hips circling to the unseen rhythm of bud to bloom dilation
with "a new perspective" on looping rotation.
broken baby waters-arching-crowning rushed;
tinted birthing waters...lamplit room...hushed.
this fresh, still flesh linked son
nestled in my arm's nook
his eyes wide, wise, mesmerised,
as I scooped the waters over him.
squat bodied, flappy footed,
the shape of him spilled his secret;
the curve of his eyes revealed
the unseen hidden extra;
three copies, not two
on number twenty-one.
and I drank him in,
this unexpected delight.
no primal screams, no broken dreams;
nothing to grieve, nothing to mourn
after forty weeks of growing this unknown,
with no fantasy baby incubating in my head.
the mother love
the father love
the sister love
the brother love
in the still hushed room,
we embraced our new kin.