Finding Breath

Finding breath

The guttural wails peaked at two,
Cramped hand aches from holding
Hers, head throbbing and she
Shuddered, quivering against the wall.

At two a.m. I wanted Antwerp
And cigarettes in the rain.
But the pain of her labor
Matted in her hair, wet now.

I wished for ‘going in moans’, but
Hear the ‘coming out’ ones.
I long for carnal sweat,
But get perspiring in a careful plan.

Warm cherry turnovers oozed
With steamy red filling,
A sweet hangover cure,
From young nights wild and free.

Loud wail and then….
This squirming, flailing mass
Blood and mucus, plops forth
And at once, I am transfixed.

She wails once more,
Wanting it to wail also.


I cannot turn away.
Cry, damn you.


And then ..
Tiny feet and miniature hands,

Kick and swing at life.
One angry, tiny scream thrusts

I squeeze her hand again.
Hard. It hurts.

She cries. I laugh.
Just for old times.

Bruce Lindley


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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