Ne Poem by Ann Mckeeman

it was a silly strange twist of circumstance
Fetal lung maturity
A trip, a needle -
Oh we do this all the time, everything will be
fine
So many needles to get to the clear shining light
you
You were ready and it was time
Still
you lingered, wrapped snugly inside
At last, reluctant to be coaxed -
Tu me manques- they brought you forth.

a new star, upon the horizon
Your birth is more
Than cards, and cakes, balloons and streamers
To me it is the touch of all that is
and ever has and will
Be.
refusing to confine the scintillating
crystalline colours of you to
a phrase

your imprint I carry
always, all ways
you.