The American Museum
And here, the birthing bed,
museum-tagged cotton sheets,
smell of moth dust
and placenta.
Half-crescent nail-marks
bruised into the oak flesh.
Imagine: an ivory wedge;
almost bitten in two,
the smell of boiled water.
A Mother –
Willing the head and shoulders
of this child to erupt from her,
willing that this child,
unlike the last,
will struggle and kick;
elbow its own way free.
The child –
blood smeared
over closed eyes.
Fists clenched,
fighting.
.
Zoë is a Poet and Mum from Dukinfield. She has an MA in Poetry from Bath Spa University.
Her work has appeared in Magma, Atrium, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Picaroon and The Black Light Engine Room amongst others.
Abegail Morley 