* This poem contains references to domestic violence occurring during a childbirth experience. Reader discretion is advised. Please take care while reading.

February 2nd, 2022

I’ve counted down in contractions,

each hour heavier than the last.

You were already shaping the air in our home.

Will you be like your brother—

wild, wide-eyed, free?

Full of life,

unburdened by fear?

Mom’s pacing.

Five minutes apart.

We’ve prayed for you.

We’re ready.

Mee-Maw has your brother.

He talks to you through her belly—

asks if you can hear him.

We laugh.

It’s sweet.

Mom is pushing.

It’s time.

I hope you feel safe.

I hope you love us.

* * *

You’re here.

But the silence is sharp.

I reach for you—

but the room snaps shut around her anger.

Joy rushes in,

but I’m not allowed to feel it.

Slap.

She struck me.

Said I wasn’t supportive enough.

Not for her.

Not for you.

And I learned joy would always come with consequence.

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