Ear deep in the bathtub
I lie back, listening to
possums tramp the tin roof
watch our cat lick mist
from its reflection, then slope
away from this grey stranger.
The windows and doors are
closed, a candle unlit
protects the gloom.
In the bedroom, my wife is
sleeping, our son, still
curled inside her.
There is a hunger in me
rising, as I let myself slip
under, nowhere else to go.
Five days, I have been
overcome with waiting
for life to happen.
Pretty soon you’ll hear
Peace be with you and yours.
Cries so loud to wake the dead
For he will not wait
Excellent–especially love the line breaks of the last two stanzas.
As much as I love these recent ‘waiting’ poems, I do sympathize with the waiting itself. If this baby turns out to be like any of mine (TWO weeks late, FOUR times!), we can all look forward to many more good pieces from you–but I wouldn’t wish that kind of wait on anyone, no matter how good their poems!
This waiting must be terrible – but the poetry is great (what else to do but sink under the bath water) – I love the way the cat slopes away from the grey stranger! Time slows when waiting, but gee does it speed up when the baby arrives.
Beautiful, Graham.
Thank you Barbara… baby Thomas is now here safe and sound (and Jules is, as always, amazing).
Waiting for life to happen; me too, too often.
Love the anxious wait feeling here. So moody.