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n e w

by aoife mannix


Let me give birth in a poppy field with seagulls overhead,
the cry of their wings a cradle of petals,
where scare crows dance and field mice clap,
the rivers flow with champagne and the nurses are marzipan,
where there is no white, no cold steel forceps,
nothing to drag screaming
into a world that doesn't know what to do
with such a tiny perfect flicker of hope.
Let me cup my hands around that flame,
set fire to the night,
and at dawn all the streets will ring
with the wonder of what has yet to be,
the fingers, the toes,
the sleeping dreams of the newly born
before anyone has said no, that's not possible.

[]

copyright © 2003, aoife mannix

 

 


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