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Initiation
She steps forward, belly round,
Back straight, legs strong.
Her time has come
For initiation
Into motherhood.
Her womb tightens again
And she crosses over
Into the birthing place.
Here, the river flows,
The sun and moon sit together in the sky
Yet there is darkness.
All around her, she hears
The echoes of the birthing sounds
Of her sisters, mothers, an-sisters.
Sobs, yelps, sighs,
Cries of pain, tears of joy,
Ecstasy.
She feels the strength
Of all women
As she bears down
And brings her daughter forth,
The child's hair
Between her fingers.
And back home,
A look of calm, strength and pure joy
Crosses her face.
All in the room step back
In awe of the goddess.
Rachel Westfall
written October 10, 2002
for
The Mother Magazine
issue 4, 2002
Water Birth
Warm water caresses me
Cradles me
Like the womb of the mother
I lay my cheek on the soft bed of
Water before me
My mother's breast
My breath echoes ragged
Against the stillness
A grinding sound
As my water breaks
Shards of white, silver minnows
Swim phosphorescent through the pool
Escaping the candlelight
Sharp sound breaks through
A mirror dropped
My damp face reflected back at me
A thousand times
In the candle light
I feel the adrenaline pulsing
No it is not mine
It is the father's
His calloused hands shaking
As he cradles his daughter's
Wet dark head
Her legs still swimming inside me
As she slips out
From water into water
You lie against my breast
Still connected by the umbilicus
Dawn rays steal in
Through the blinds
To touch your cheek
For the first time
I love you child
Rachel Emma Westfall
written
September, 2002 in honour of my daughter
for
The Mother Magazine, Issue
4, 2002
and Ovarian Connection magazine,
Issue 3, 2003
Night mares
Soft, warm child
What is it that wakes you
Deep in the night
Your body rigid
Your lips pulled back
In a silent scream?
I carry you out
Into the light
Soft, yellow light
Capture your dream
In my hands
And throw it out
Into the snow
Strong, sweet child
Are you dreaming my fear
That night when you were still in me
But barely
And we left our home
In a panic
With sirens screaming?
Don't cut me, my mind pleaded
I press your body close
Crush you against me
Both our hearts pounding
Your breath hot
On my neck
Till your whimpering subsides
Fey, mischievous child
Are you dreaming my sorrow
As your cord was severed
Before you'd finished being born
Your blood spraying the room:
Those seconds, minutes, hours
Of asphyxiation of panic
Before you gulped down
Your first breath of hospital air?
I need to hold you warm
Make you flannel pyjamas
Pyjama socks, pyjama gloves
Like those first days when
They kept telling me
To put another layer on you
Till you lay drenched in sweat
Laughable
Wrapped in layer upon layer
Fierce, thin child
Are you dreaming my grief
My milk a river of tears
After the midwife told me
Breast milk only for the first six months
And slipped poison
Between your lips:
You barely two weeks old?
I stroke your back,
So long and strong now
And squeeze your hot palm
Tell you I love you
And that I am here
It was just a dream
And such nonsense
Rachel Emma Westfall
regarding my son's birth,
written November 10, 2002
for The Mother Magazine, Issue
4, 2002
See more of Rachel's poems
here
