Lamaze Method
I remember, I
remember the room where you were born,
The whiteness of it, all white, four white, walls
And clean as the
first light of that summer day
When you
came. In England they grab gas and toss
With pain. Your
room was foreign, quiet and white.
I was shaved white
to sail each wave of pain.
How I surfed
through it
And how the skill
of cresting and coming through
Made sport of your
arrival.
The Belgian
midwife said I did it well,
Such a perfect primitive
performance.
I think she was
pleased when you, baby,
Came and needed
attention.
Even we
prizewinners
Were taken aback
At our prowess.
Brussels, 1969.
No comments:
Post a Comment