For you & Other Poems
Photo Courtesy | Maddy Hill
BY MADDY HILL
For you
Babe of mine, so soft and sweet,
come and lie upon my chest.
Here is where you and I will meet,
And softly I will sing for you.
I was clumsy before you came,
but tenderly I’ll hold your hand,
and whisper prayers after your name,
and surely I will live for you.
I think about you through the day,
your smile is a soothing balm,
and nothing I can ever say
will nearly be enough for you.
But then the shadows come to creep,
stealing through the midnight watch,
and though contentedly you sleep,
I think I may be wrong for you.
When you cry I see my tears,
mocking my maternity,
and still my fears are built on fears,
that I am not enough for you.
My days are all the wrong way round,
with thoughts that can’t be spoken.
And endless is the broken sound,
that I wish I was more for you.
But still my weary feet move on,
trying to make right choices,
and regardless of what I do wrong
I will always try for you.
I press onwards
I listened to Elk City on our journey down,
fingers twitching on the volume dial.
don’t
wake the baby
and maybe the road will be kind to us.
I can see him in the mirror,
pink toes creased against the back of the seat,
and I don’t know why,
but the relief is wet on my cheeks.
Relief he’s asleep.
Relief we’ve made it this far.
Ten months of heaven and hell,
all rolled up in warm chubby thighs.
I press onwards.
On the way back from hospital,
New bundle parcelled into the car,
feather-light fingers
fumbling with the seat belt,
are we doing ok?
I sat next to him in the back,
held his hand
held my breath
and prayed I could keep him alive.
On the way to nursery for the first time,
nerves thrum in time with the engine.
He chats in the back,
blissful ignorance of what’s to come.
He doesn’t yet know that he’s going to scream,
grip my top in his heartbroken fist
and look at me with eyes that say
how could you?
I press onwards.
You are watching me drive now,
little mind turning and turning.
I wonder what you see, when you look at me,
with those wide eyes.
Are you wondering where we’re going next?
Or are you up with the birds,
soaring in the wind.
This place
I knew,
when they said we should come here,
that there would be tears, one way or another.
My heart sunk into the depths,
but I tried to listen,
straining against the swirling panic
as they calmly explained they need to see you
now.
And anyone who knows the NHS,
knows it’s Bad News when they’re waiting for you to arrive,
waiting with a consultant to rush you in,
rush you down and now we sit.
In this small room,
turtles painted on the walls so the little ones can’t
see the desperate peeling of the paint.
You can’t hear my nerves,
just the beep-beep-beeping from the room next door.
And when they say
we need to stay the night
I feel lost to this place once again.
This place that you came into first.
This place where we saw you over and over
on a small screen,
a window into our life to be,
but it was glassy and warped and we didn’t really know
anything.
The room that we have for the night is lonely
you cling to me, even you know this isn’t
home.
And when they keep coming to check your vital signs,
I want to say
can you check mine?
Check I’m still here, still alive.
Check I’m doing ok for you.
I try and keep you occupied in this
lonely lonely room,
but with only a few toys it was always going to be
impossible.
And when they come in the morning with their schooled faces I am almost
glad we will be gone and away with this place.
This place that takes my breath away.
Amongst the hustle and bustle,
there is a hopeless stillness to this place,
felt way down in your bones.
And I dream of a time when we won’t have to worry,
we can dance amongst the monotony of our days,
knowing we are the lucky ones.
MADDY HILL lives in the West Midlands, United Kingdom with her husband, son and cat, and puts to page her experiences of a traumatic birth and her awkward first attempt at motherhood. The first time she read a poem about someone’s traumatic birth, it made her cry with the overwhelming relief that she wasn’t alone in her experiences and thoughts. She hopes more than anything that she can return the favor to someone else who may be feeling isolated by how they feel.