You, a poem in celebration of my youngest son’s homebirth | Indie Birth

Birth Art and Poetry

You, a poem in celebration of my youngest son’s homebirth

January 20, 2011

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We are mamas and birth workers who decided to do birth differently– and bring others along with us. We are kind, fun to work with, and great at (lovingly) calling people on their bullshit when necessary. With 11 children and 16 years of midwifery between us, we’ve learned a thing or two along the way, and Indie Birth is our space to share it all with you.

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(a poem in celebration of my youngest son’s home birth)

**Christopher passed away in August 2012 leaving behind 2 young boys**

You.

Listen to the Audio Recording of this Poem

Play

You born in 2/4 time.
An 87 minute movement. Allegro.

Bath water still running.
Father focused but flailing.
Mother focused and firm.
Hands ready and soft.

I first feel your hair. Like mossy soft algae with whispy dirty strawberry highlights and I take full responsibility for that.

Next touch…your skin is made from the ghosts of all the flower pedals that have ever lived, lined with October clouds.
The rest of you is shaped by your mother.

You. Breathe.
You. Move.

This night, your birth-night, fills my belly with it’s stars.

At times your brother will sing to you when your frustration drowns your throat.

Your father has moments when the temples pillars become his bones.

And your mother can quilt all of this into a home.

You. The peace you make greets me in every doorway.

In your lungs my son, is your name, inhaled by Shakespear’s and bums.

Tyranny and Jesus drank from the same rain that falls into your Sippy Cup.

And this Arizona red dirt has a story of gratitude. Wings for lovers under it’s skin and a front porch of infinite mornings – stars fading where birds begin.

And you.

You begin your crisp mornings making overjoyed ramblings. Tis a workout following hard you big brothers footsteps. And yet sometimes I doubt the wind.

Find too much red in the landscape. That Manzanita is twisting the wrong way. My sinuses confirm Gods’ hate for me…Juniper!
And too many men having too many meetings wasting too many minutes on the future.

My how your father forgets that words make thoughts heavy; become fists when formed and hurt when delivered.
How your father can loose himself in the final thoughts of Pompeii streets, the graves of fallen soldiers, the hard-drives of archaic machines…anywhere but now.

So it’s you.

You, born.

Wind upon wind.

Layered crescendos.

Into my hands, soft grace against you mothers chest.

You, starting you art career early with black marker, distracted parents and blank rented house walls.

You, rolling over, crawling, shuffling, running, peddling, swinging, swimming, climbing.

“Hey, where ya goin’?”
“Ok. Well, come home soon!”

It’s you. That reminds me that i was never born a poet, I was raised to be a bender of dark lines so the illuminated seem brighter.

And I raise you right here, in deep red dirt.

Surrounded by arroyos, coyotes and people that can’t really explain why we stay so we paint, sing, sculpt, play our reasons.

We bend light by opening our front doors on infinite front porch mornings. Fill our bellies with what’s left of stars and listen to song…

“You see? There my sons. This

is where

birds

begin.”

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  1. Linossum says:

    How wonderous to hear birth from the father’s poetic perspective.
    And such a gift they all are–babies, mothers, fathers, birds, red earth, running waters

  2. Tony Chavez says:

    Enjoyed your poem. Thanks for sharing. Line in the poem that caught my attention most: “Surrounded by arroyos, coyotes and people that can’t really explain why we stay so we paint, sing, sculpt, play our reasons.”

  3. Wow—very powerful and touching. Thank you for sharing your artistry.

  4. Christopher Lane says:

    you’re very welcome! thank you for reading it and taking it to heart. i also send out a poem monday – friday and i’d love for you to subscribe! http://eepurl.com/cvl6L

  5. thank YOU Tony! i love that line too. we really can’t explain why we stay here in this little gorgeous town, but we do, and that makes all the difference for our children! check out my daily poems too http://eepurl.com/cvl6L

  6. Yay! i’m glad you enjoyed it. it was such an incredible birth and we’re so grateful Maryn is our midwife! if you wanna get a poem Monday – Friday check this out and thanks again! http://eepurl.com/cvl6L

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We are mamas and birth workers who decided to do birth differently– and bring others along with us. We are kind, fun to work with, and great at (lovingly) calling people on their bullshit when necessary. With 11 children and 16 years of midwifery between us, we’ve learned a thing or two along the way, and Indie Birth is our space to share it all with you.

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