For the Daily Inklings prompt, Dark Nostalgia.
Maternity is a cruel place
the birthing institution
she who must be obeyed
the medicated functional machinery
that steals the deepest secret
and displays it on a screen
for the profane to pontificate.
It’s for your own good
they’d frown and say as if to an ingrate
and unfold my hands from their protective gesture
and peer inside
proclaiming loud and high what they had found.
I would have kept you secret
all of you
an idea of a child—mine
and not have some hard-eyed white coat
whisk and brisk smugly around my stricken bloat
I know your baby better than you.
I remember with affection
the soft hands of midwives wiping brow
when the white coats had lost interest and gone to probe new secrets
easing my child from that final darkness
into the cool white world of joy and sorrow.