Five years old

well, I'll tell you. it was a warm day, yes,
not a dragon-breath day, not that, but -
the hospital was cool though, and smooth,
with floor polish and paper-slippered feet

we walked the long corridor to the theatre,
your father striding, I waddling
like the spherical duck I was. I remember no nerves
(perhaps a few, alright. a fizz of adrenalin
to tickle my toes, no more).

we were excited, you see. excited to meet you
you, you, you
the doves called it on the window ledge

(pigeons, actually. doves just sounds better).

and all through the parts that were strange and the parts that were scary
and all through the parts that hurt even though they weren't supposed to -
I held you as a constant, clear as water in my mind
you, you, you

your first cry a hallelujah; my ears
drank you in, greedy, as they curled you up on my chest
while the surgeons did their thing, and I looked at you
you, you, you
still smudgy with vernix
eyes as old as the world, like all new souls
your tiny puckering mouth, pursing
your little wrinkled fingers on mine

you, you, you

hard times came to us then, but I don't want to speak of that
not today, not now.
today I am looking at a person who is everything - and nothing - like I expected
like I hoped for
on that jade-green day on the year of fire

a person who is so much herself
that there is no room, nor should there be, for the fantasies I spun in my head.
good thing too, my love,
because I could have never have dreamed up anything half so fine
as the person who wraps arms around my neck and whispers to me
you, you, you

my beloved child
my lastborn child
you bring me gardens and sunlight
oceans and the flight of crows
you bring me pieces of myself lost in the sky, and fit them in

you, you, you

you bring me delight.

- Kathy, 23/2/14