Life’s Little Miracles
Conception. It is mystical, divine.
For what compares to the miracle that is life?
I’m ever in awe when I think, of
Tiny cells fusing
Into a soul, living
Protected by her haven; my womb.
She kicks my ribs, pirouettes when I eat.
My cysts throb with her growth, her daily feats.
I revere her, this lil’ wonder.
She’s a gem, our gift
Into her own spirit,
Comforted by her lighthouse; my voice.
Doctors warn the chance is fifty/fifty
So I summon courage from my mothers before me.
And though cautious I stand unfazed
Ready to conquer
Low amniotic fluid,
Cervical cerclage, miscarriage.
It takes nine months, ten moons my aunt says.
I face nausea, discomfort, an array of pains.
My body is a foreign space,
Senses intense, derailed.
I languish in time’s jail
Yearning wildly for my girl, my world.
I trudge past her due date; nothing’s amiss.
I’d walked and walked! Is it a labour rousing trick, or myth?
I’m post-term and hospitalised.
There, one can’t be shy
The week tarries by.
Still, grace abounds, I get to pick the day she comes!
Induction begins at the crack of dawn
Contractions intensify as the clock ticks on.
Amniotic sac is ruptured
I’m convinced I’ll die
Mwen wè Jézi
Fourteen hours drag by.
At exactly two minutes past nine, her precious life enriches mine.
Over nine pounds, dry skin, she’s in distress.
Neonatal unit is our new address.
I can’t nurse her; my milk won’t come.
On top of that she battles storms
Brachial plexus injury.
For years to come, our gem will need therapy.
My heart’s too small to contain what I feel;
These emotions astound me. She is seraphic
Transcending my understanding
Of love, of life.
I’m immersed in her light.
And all eternity will never be enough to fathom the true depth of my love.