Sunday, 9 April 2017

born into poetry

the day was full of mutterings
doors opening themselves
the river flowing in the opposite direction

the little one was about to be born
the mother lying in a pool of sweat
it was a hard birth

the air was making gasping noises
the trees were bending over
to huddle themselves against 
something fiercely unknown
the walls drew closer together
as if all the space was making them nervous
the ants stopped scurrying
and for the very first time
lay on their backs

the sparrows flew into the house
and made their nests in the vacant shoes
the curtains knotted themselves
fearing derailment
the cracked unevenness in the paving at the front door
closed themselves up
smoothing the hurried entrance of the midwife

this was the day she was born into poetry

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