December BabyA Poem by Carissa FaulkThis is a poem in four parts, dealing with childbirth, and the joys and pains that come with that. Though they are not graphic or explicit, they do deal with intense topics, so be forewarned.December Baby I. The children of the winter sky fall in flurries, fall slow, fall peaceful, fall slow, like the leaves that fell before them, now they fall, so that new kingdoms can rise of dandelions and desert poppies, snow flurries hurry before oncoming spring. My Oncoming Spring, my little Snow King, you come with the snow, you come to herald the coming light and love of Spring and we wait breathless for your first breaths and rosy cheeks and I can’t wait to show you roses in spring, to show you the roses of spring you will bring Spring to us. So strange how everything changes when you take that little breath it is the springtime of your life, you are the springtime of my life, my little Oncoming Spring. December Baby II. They spent months finding the perfect gift; it’s wrapped in gold now, beneath the pine and the tinsel shivers and the oven fills the room with cranberry smells, they bake bread to fight off the cold as the sky drops it’s flurries of snowy tears. She asks who will tear the golden paper off of that perfect present; her husband’s says his fingers are numb and cold from stuffing the still-frozen turkey with pine- like rosemary leaves and cranberries and he stands by the fire and shivers. She wants to hold him, to stop his shivering but instead begins to weep and doesn’t notice that the cranberry bread is burning, she is not present enough to notice things like that, she pines for the end to take her into the frozen ground. Her husband tries to shield her from the cold but she is still shivering and refuses to sweep up the falling pine needles, which the tree drops like tears all over the golden present until that golden present is deeply buried. How do you recover from having buried your only child in the frozen ground? She struggles to still be present for her husband, but she’s dancing between determination and tears and she longs to be the one buried in a box of pine. She sits beneath the brightly decorated pine hoping that the needles will bury her too, like her despair has with tears, buried her deep in the cold. but her husband brings a shivering candle to light the room while he unwraps the present. This present his wife wants to bury in pine, he shivers to think of it rotting in the ground; he will not let the cold tear them apart. December Baby III. If I wept, would you let me remember that sweet almost December, that sweet almost December when I almost was a mother. If I wept, would you let me know how he would have felt, rocking deep and slow, my sweet almost baby in that sweet almost December, rocking slow. If I had wept when they killed my baby my sweet, my almost, my baby, when I almost was a mother, when I almost could have been a mother but instead I was a monster, if I had wept, would I remember the flutter of his heartbeat, the pounding of his small feet as I rocked him, deep and slow in the cold clinic white walls, as I rocked away my conscience deep and slow. Would I have forgiven him for being a surprise, unwanted baby, would I have forgiven him for being my sweet December baby... If I had wept, would I have noticed his pounding fists and heartbeats pounding on my ribcage, begging me to let him be my precious baby, my sweet December baby. December Baby IV. I am breathless, as I wait. Your father’s hand crushes mine. The weight of all these years makes me forget that I wipe these happy tears with frozen fingers, I don’t feel them anymore, I only feel the empty hollow in my arms where you will be soon, soon (not soon enough). My sister-in-law hands me a cup of soggy coffee, I suppose I’ll need caffeine soon, but now my heart is racing to the beat of your little heartbeats on the monitor, they’re so quick! Your birth-mother is fighting so hard to bring you to me. Never forget, Little One, that she did that for you, fought through a cold, long Christmas night without your birth-father by her side, only us, basically strangers, here to tell her it’s okay, she’s doing great, just breath now, and she does, and there is joy and pain in her tears as your cries join her’s and she hands your wriggling form to me so you can see me, your Mommy! (How strange that is to say)! © 2014 Carissa FaulkAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorCarissa FaulkLos Angeles, CAAboutA native of the Los Angeles area, Carissa loves Jesus above all else. Her hobbies include poetry writing, betta fish keeping, excessive reading binges between semesters, hiking, and occasionally writi.. more..Writing
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