New Mother

My eyes,
dry and hard as two round
river stones sunk
just below the surface of my face.

My flesh,
wet and heavy as
the muck of the river bed.

My blood
flows loose and clear
as the river itself.

My son,
for you I release
the floodgates, and milk pours
down and out and into
your hungry body,
filling you, emptying me.

When the torrents of fear lash through you,
I encircle your struggling body with the
buoyant waters of mine -
a current of love,
a whirlpool from the heart,
something solid to kick against
as you pull your way up,
holding your head above the surface of your terror.

You do not drown,
you thrash about.
I stay safe and warm
as the steady flow around you.
Drenched and crying,
you fight and push.
I murmur gently as the song of water over stones.

Floating on my surface
you finally rest your head
on the bank of my arm.
A few shudders of a boy spent
in tears and toil,
and then you sleep.
We lie down together.
Your breathing even,
my waters smooth again.

Katie Murray
Chiang Khan, Loei, Thailand


Last modified: 2017-05-06 23:35:41-07