Alive

Alive

Alive

Straddled,
like a cow in a fair,
I shudder as the midwife
strips me bare,
and my waters gush
across the floor.

You see my bottom
flower like a baboon’s
as I brace and grunt;
you’re calm throughout,
and fascinated, as her head
breaks free, as she rests
on my belly in slimy red.

You are triumphant
when we take her home,
but I’m prone
to shakes and weeps,
hovering over the tiny
neckless scrap,
looking out for threats.

You throw her
over your shoulder,
laughing as you tell
of baby horrors:
The German newborn
chewed by the family dog,
the premature boy
boiled to death
in the hospital linen,

the day-old passenger
in the car
which crashed into a lake
drowning the parents
but the child –
immersed in cold water
for an hour –
emerged alive.