(after the photograph by Richard Greenhill, 1976)

 

Ten minutes after you were born,

the books fell to the one side;

your big brother continued playing Lego,

putting the bits together, as if there was an order to life,

and she stitched me up, that lovely midwife,

and sorted out my afterbirth: and cut the cord with a sharp knife.

The room was the same old, kind, mess;

clothes here, kids’ books there, real life,

crumpled sheets, and on my face, sunlight. I felt

a kind of grace, a sort of embrace, an end to this strife.

The room took you in. Ten minutes later, you were my life.

Out, my little girl – out from my small room of womb, Nell.

Little Nell, our curious girl. And healthy! And well!