poem #2

Ode to Bailey
Home, hearth, a piecemeal Jacuzzi,
and Harry Potter DVDs playing ceaselessly,
preludes to the first mewls;
Mom and me sit in tub or on toilet,
listening to the midwife impatiently:
Push, push, push a little more
Eighteen hours’ labor and no son:
Speed to the OR, to epidural injections,
a C-section—wifey on the table, scalpel
at her navel, belly bronzed, legs splayed,
a turkey; the anesthesiologists say
Does that feel cold? Does it pinch?
A grand entrance: bloody glory,
eight pounds, six screaming at me,
expanding cat-sized lungs; the brunette nurse
lets me cut the umbilical that was already cut;
the blond nurse prays; Bailey lays on his mother,
And like he was born to, takes her breast.
 – Thomas McCafferty
Tweet about this on TwitterShare on FacebookEmail this to someone