Nascere

The man in the white coat told us it would e awhile, and m mother agreed.
My mother I believed more simply because what could a man know of this,
even with the clicks and whirs of industry surrounding us-- his sphere.
There was, of course, the ever present scent of antiseptic and bleach
and cold- it's inexplicable but true, the scent of unremembered death.
The animal we bury inside of ourselves knows it on instinct and cowers.
Everywhere the sounds of screaming echo off the pristine walls,
rattle in my ears and rip the soundtrack of the spanish soap into the
occasional word able to push and break through the infrequent bursts of
silence-- endless.

Then the sweat on her brow, on hand in mine and the other in my father's,
the only tethers to the earth as her body heaved, despite the amenities,
it seemed the clicks and whirs were drumbeats to mark the waiting time.
I heard someone call out 10:05 and it was over so suddenly, like the world
stopped on a dime to pass a bundle of blankets from her arms to mine.
There's nothing from that moment except the vision of watery eyes,
A tiny ball of angry red skin-- an alien in a coating of afterbirth.
It's strange how quickly you can fall irrevocably in love.