(For Thomas in celebration of his birth)
I will never forget the moment
the obstetrician hauled you from
your mother’s womb:
one arm in defiant gesture
held stiff and strong
across your stomach
as though slotted through the strap
of an invisible shield.
The surgeon held you up for my photo,
his arms straining under 10lb 11oz
of warrior pose.
Bloodied from head to foot,
you never uttered a sound
but remained in concentrated stillness,
to some other world you had left behind
like a little warrior
who has passed through the tumult
to a place of peace.
Please forgive me a little nostalgia this week as my oldest son, celebrated in this poem, is on the verge of high school and teenage-hood and all the signs are emerging that he is transitioning from childhood to adulthood. It is hard to believe that the cute little fellow who loved tractors and diggers and who danced joyously to The Wiggles now blasts out heavy metal riffs on his guitar and says " 'sup bro".