The room is cluttered with cards, bags, and flowers.
A drooping banner on the window sill, beneath exuberant blooms of red amaryllis.
The frost crawling up the glass, aching to enter the warmth.
“Congratulations”
Nine months.
One week.
Two days.
Today it will be over.
Today it will begin.
Nurses in and out, a constantly rotating turnstile.
Each entry, we hang on bated breath.
Nerves and angst, joy and yearning.
Let it be time.
What feels like hours pass.
In these moments, time has no meaning.
Contraction.
Dilation.
Push.
Push.
Joy.
The soft touch of grown hands on new birth awakens a cry.
Infinite beauty in those wails.
Life’s song, taking its first breaths.

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Jon Giles