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| We loved big hair in 1985! Christmas, pregnant with Allison, beside my sweet daddy. |
Confinement
I wait,
as for my first child,
ten days past due,
belly overfull,
tracing the patterned arm
of an overstuffed chair,
phantom pains
predicting birth.
I wait
in a vinyl recliner
beside my father. He jams
an elbow in the hospice bed,
turns to one side,
shoves a bony heel into the sheet
to loosen a cramped corner.
He waits, tethered
by time, until the present
dilates and he slips
beyond the rim of now,
where I wait
for the water to break.
© Doraine Bennett, 2013
Doraine, thank you for sharing such a rich, personal, and powerful poem. Thoughts and prayers.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully shown, that waiting, linking your time together over all the years. Thank you Dori for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThe photo and poem are wonderful together. You've written a poignant, warm gift from the heart.
ReplyDeletePoignant juxtaposition of the beginning and end of life, shaded by your loving memories and love. Thanks for sharing this, Dori.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your poem and a bit of your life with us today, Dori. =)
ReplyDeleteBirth and death, waiting and time, excitement and apprehension.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem.