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