Writing inspired by random lines of famous poetry – by Emma Tringham

On a glorious July day…”

My daughter was born

That was the first time I heard the word ‘close’

To describe the atmosphere

In that stuffy maternity ward

I lay on the high bed afterwards

Small, red cherub wrapped in a (wrongly) blue blanket

In a goldfish bowl, beside me

I marvelled at the translucent softness of her skin

White crusted forehead

Lying there I became myself

Newborn as a mother

Scared, proud, shocked

I was exhausted but aflame

In that white, hot room my spirit rose up

Hope is a thing with feathers…”

I stood like Icarus on the precipice

Afraid of flying too close to the sun

But I did rise to the occasion

Maternal love burst from me like red steam

And funnelled out along the corridors

It was the beginning of everything

And, at seventeen, the end of my childhood.

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