On the birth of a child

By Eileen Mattmann


You came to me from
another place. I was conduit,
willing pipeline with a sense
of you growing, rolling,
pushing against the confines
of my flesh and your flesh,
testing limitations of life
for a spirit accustomed
to whatever life was before this.

Then you were here, your eyes
steady, willing me to see,
full of the knowledge
of where you had been,
lost or just out of my sight
for a while. What do you know?
You have no words,
there are no words, I am sure of it.

Like waking from a dream
vivid and clear, the sun
burns it away, we grasp at wisps
of fog leaving vague remembrance,
yearning for fullness, wholeness
we try to recover every day
of this life. What could you tell me?
We are mute, already
it is too late.

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Eileen Mattmann - My first child was born 36 years ago and I am now the happy grandma helping her launch her own family. There are many indelible things in my mind from that time and my girls love to hear stories, even at this age, about their early lives, stories that become family legends, dear and eternal.