I might have been there but I shied away.
This is a moment frozen for all time:
infant asleep and mother contemplating
the peaceful face. So this
is what I carried, this what caused me
pain and stitches, this the reason, this the fruit
of all my labour – treasure, burden, duty, joy,
weight and wings of my existence, more
precious to me by far than my own life.
Happily the future sleeps, for now.
I, an outsider, chancing on the image,
feel the fierce rush of the emotion, much
like the tidal race of some great river
watched dry-shod from the shore.
“Two unrelated medical conditions meant it would have been both difficult and dangerous for me to conceive. My husband didn’t want children anyway so I swallowed my longing, but I still suffer even now when my peers talk about their grandchildren.
In the poem, by not attending the christening, I try to protect myself from exposure to pain until a photograph brings home everything I’ve missed out on.
In certain situations a woman’s worth seems to be reckoned in terms of the number of her offspring, and maternity can be viewed as the key to a magical, exclusive Club. But we need to remember that everyone has their own unique experiences, their own value, and usually the ability to imagine.”
Damaris West has worked as a librarian, nursery teacher, nanny, tutor, tuition agency director and commercial writer. Although English by birth, she currently lives in south-west Scotland. Her poetry has been published widely in magazines and anthologies and has been placed in several competitions. She is also a novelist.