Mothers Last Hour
This is the fifth and final poem in my set of poems for the creative writing assignment due tomorrow. This last one was tough. It took me a while to decide which option I was going to go with. Ultimately I decided to do a response poem to another poem we read in class called, First Hour by Sharon Olds, which you can read here http://tumblr.austinkleon.com/post/56565801533 The poetry we are writing in class has to be contemporary, can’t be in rhyme, the poem has to have the same amount of concrete nouns as the poem has lines throughout. The response poems had to be opposite to the original poem we are responding too. I hope you enjoy my response poem.
Mothers Last Hour
I’m riddled with pain in my back
The sweat drips between my breasts
They yell, “Push, you can do this!”
I’m overcome with fear
Fear like seeing a spider crawl slowly up your arm
How can I do this? How can I protect another life?
I am not even sure what I’m doing with my own.
You will be my first child.
Dozing off in between each contraction in bed,
Family and friends siphoning the energy from me,
It is all out of love and concern for us both.
My modesty stripped a little bit more,
with nurses and doctors, they come and go,
So many white jackets and blue nurse uniforms come and go, strangers.
Visiting my vagina exposed to the world inside this pale room in this white bed
With splashes of red hues and pink
Beeping and buzzing from room instruments.
The room is fading to black
The noises are muffled but I hear what the doctor says,
“Hold on, almost there, things are going to be fine.”
The wind whistles in my ears and a cool wind strokes my face.
Your dad is full of panic as I am rolled to another room.
The bright lights are blinding.
My legs tremble and my heart races.
Can I finish this? Can we both make it through?
A shrieking cry echoes the room of lights. I’m exhausted yet excited.
Tears of joy stream down from my eyes as I lay on the bed
Tears drip into my ears as the room turns black one last time.
I hope you know that I loved you from conception.
Posted on Wednesday, October 7, 2015, in art, creative fiction, creative writing, culture, Death, poems, Poetry, prose, writing and tagged art, creative fiction, creative writing, culture, Death, poems, Poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.