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.

Silence.

I cannot turn away.
Cry, damn you.

Breath.

And then ..
Tiny feet and miniature hands,

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

I squeeze her hand again.
Hard. It hurts.

She cries. I laugh.
Just for old times.

Bruce Lindley

Advertisements

About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s