Held by your father
First me then you
He is shaking
Part of himself is ready
I can’t capture it properly
Zooming in on your mother’s face
Completely overwhelmed
The warm glue of love without end
Although I can’t know it
I can see that’s what it is
Hospital gowns and nervous euphoria
Crumpled clothes and no quiet
It is the moment an hour after
In a clean room full of cold coffee
Just before everyone else gets to see her
Neither mum nor dad can control their faces
Your mother’s holding me now and
Dad is cradling you in very weak arms
That are doing their very best
Not knowing you’re the focal point
Making everyone’s eyes itch
(Apart from mine, of course)
Wrapped in blankets and sleep
Welcoming whispered prods
There were other machines there, too
Mother turns me on herself and says:
‘Hi Rosie, we all love you very much.’
She says more words but I’m soon to be rightly stopped.