Sunday, June 28, 2009

the sabbath child

she was born on a sunday, small, underweight, undercooked in her mother's womb. she popped out blue, mewing, her arms moving in jerky attempts to flail about. wrapped in warm blankets, a quick peek at her mother's face, and she was swiftly moved into a special place where she was weighed and measured and given oxygen. mother and child met again a few hours later, one exhausted, the other struggling against the pneumonia that had already entered her lungs. together, they lay in a bed, one curled around the other, each feeding the others needs in different ways. days passed, she became stronger and eventually, came home to a house full of siblings and dogs and cats and noise and love. it was there she grew strong and healthy, never meeting anyone she didn't like. she was all the rhyme said she'd be; bonny and blithe, and good and gay--giving great joy to all around her. now, she was with child, holding her hand on her flat stomach in that way women do, when they know a new life is within, before the rest of the world is aware of that fact. she walks with soft steps, smiles a secret smile, and waits to meet her day of the week child.


  1. I love that line 'her day of the week child' fantastic x

  2. Lovely mother/daughter, life moving down through women, love, and nurture.

  3. :) Love the title, and the piece itself. You're a writer indeed. Is this inspired from personal experience?