Birthday

The blue light filtered through inverted blinds--

Sandwiched between two thin panes--
And painted the room melancholy.
My eyes burned
My feet throbbed and
Ached, squeezed in a vice.
Having been in that
room three times before
Slumbering in the squeaky recliner
Which no longer leaned back--
I wondered if today was really
the day. When 5 cm came
the severe nurses finally
flooded narcotics through the
IV and the room grew sedate.
Suddenly, the time came,
but a lip of cervix blocked the
way—“Try to push past.”
The doctor transformed the bed,
Benignly masked strangers carted
in trays of mammoth metal tools.
I lifted her right leg--
Push push push push push
The doctor finally broke his
vow of silence. “I'm going to
pull it the rest of the way out.”
What alien thing is this
With his misshapen head
That has silently lived
Existed, waited to be born?
The silence panicked me--
an entire future shifted
and changed irrevocably--
But hope restored
When I heard his tiny voice
Cry out with fear and despair.
The placenta and blood plopped
one horrid mess into a metal pan.
“The placenta needs to be sent out.”
We shared this experience with strangers,
Totally dependent on their expertise
We reverted to a familiar infancy.
Something stirred deep in my
most secret vacuums.
They opened to receive his tears.