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HER BIRTH
On the wall, a print of purple petunias,
watercoloured in Walberswick.
I call to you,
say That's a good omen,
that's a good sign, before buckling,
gripping the hospital bed.
Walberswick
is where I holidayed,
every childhood summer.
It's where we announced the news.
Sixteen months
after the effort
of her birth, we collect a faux-walnut
box from Jenkins & Sons. Inside,
a clear
sachet, weightless as dried herbs.
We drive 281 miles for that cold, unstoppable
wave to suck the sachet
clean and I ask you,
She is alright now, isn't she? She is alright?
ECHO
Not the one
that starts in your mouth, bounces back,
rolls down your throat, vowels collecting like balls in a net.
I
mean an echocardiogram. The doctor's probe plays
slim keys of your ribs, draws the murmur of music
that
beats in you. Your baby heart dances on the screen,
if only it was lucky to see this secret cave. A deformed
valve leaps between chambers like a March hare,
marking the spring day you were born. Diverted on its travels,
your blood is a mystery trail, leaving me lost.
I distract you with bubbles. Keep clear spheres
coming
around your head, wanting them to last,
each pop a small, inexplicable loss.
I SWEAT WHEN I
Hoover. Mash potatoes. Fuck.
You sweat sitting up. 8kg and
able to spread a stain on your
father's
shirt, asleep in his arms.
A breastfeed left us slippery, hot,
your heart working harder
than
mine. Weaning you,
was undocumented. No chapters
for a child who can't eat.
I prepare another
bottle,
blonde floss of your hair
sticky at your neck,
while you watch, breathe.
PRINT
We have your prints, hands and feet,
pencil grey, as if they stood you in soot.
A nurse
lifted your palms then soles
to the paper. Underneath, wrote your name,
the date. I wanted your handprint
to come home on sugar paper. Wet,
bright yellow, ready for the fridge.
Months later, the sun picked
out
your paw on the pane, each tip,
tiny as peas. I peered close,
nose almost touching my fossil,
my find.
FETAL HEART
It uncurled, unfolded
into four but was clover
with an unlucky
lobe,
the rarest of anomalies
that flourished to defeat her.
Copyright © Rebecca Goss,
2009
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