In the Middle of the Night

Poem about motherhood

In the Middle of the Night

Three little babies
In a single income home -
I clean other people’s houses
And we struggle.
I see my hands
Scrubbing a pan,
Or a floor,
Or dirty little feet, and
They are the gnarled,
Arthritic hands
Of my Nana.
I know I look older
Than my years.

In the middle of the night
The baby cries
And I’m up
Before I’m awake.
I lift her warm, dewy body
And nestle her close.
I tickle her pouting lips
With my nipple
And she latches on.

I listen to the rumble of freight trains
And watch moon shadows
Wave on the wall, and
Our umbilical cord reaches
From the depths of my body
To re-attach.
I close my eyes and rest my head
And a universal womb enfolds us,
Embraces us.
Together we are sustained, fed,
One with everything natural,
And we rock.