5-17-06

Each of your births left me wordless-
I was not moved to write back then.
Welcoming my granddaughters,
midwifing you, my daughter -
THAT was the poem, the very BEING
there. Attending to you consumed me.
Massaging, cooking, cleaning, sewing.
Whatever I could do to help, I would.
The trust, the tenderness between
us were (and are) sacred.
Words seemed trivial beside the
being or inadequate to hold the
bigness of my heart, of my mind
melting at the sight of you in labor.

Now, your mama, midwife, the girls'
nana - have all morphed into one
sometimes scattered and confused,
sometimes anxious, mostly loving
being. You make the call, speak
your need and I am that. Just say
which hat. I'll put it on.

Iluka's coming transfomed us both.
You became mother. I became nana.
Both of us changed in so many ways.
You, serenely joyous, soft and strong.
Me, heart swollen with mama pride and
nana love. Here, in your childhood home,
you delivered your firstborn. Weeping
with relief, with wonder, mama Rachel
ushering in new life, babe welcomed into
papa Justin's eager hands. Joyful serenity
enfolding all.

Two years later, I well remember
your call. "Guess what, mom?"
Inside I already knew. You lived
afar. Many times since, I have
heard your words: "I want YOU
for my midwife!" Who could resist?
No hesitation here, yet nights of anxious
dreams: you greeting me with babe
already in your arms. I made it across
the globe with ample time.

Kobie came with neck arched, swollen
eyes, purple brow, stubborn
shoulders. Not at all the birth I
would have planned, could I have.
You never waivered or complained,
sure of your place in the natural world.
Afterwards, though you and babe were
well, I floundered in a tidal wave of
emotion, exhaustion and gratitude.

Five years passed. Again I flew to be
with you. You were different then -
no longer resisting intensity, as the
first time. No longer pushing calendar,
restlessly, as the second. This birth,
you told me when baby would come.
You knew. Deep inside you knew.
The others sleeping, you listened
calmly to your body, took your time
in quiet rhythm. Later, with daughters
and papa at your side, nana nearby,
you brought Jada forth. Confidently
you unraveled cord, as if you'd done
it many times before.....you, your
own midwife. Me, watchful guardian.

5/18/06

Mama-to-be and me,
we each lean forward,
foreheads pressing
against the trunk
of a tall sturdy redwood
tree. Comforting,
sticky bark sweetness
penetrates my lungs.
Silently, I ask for guidance.
I feel my feet slipping
out from under me,
sliding. It makes me dizzy.
Sliding ever downward.
Is this what having
roots is all about?
Is this what you tell me,
Grandmother? How to go
deep into the earth to
find my center? That
being grounded means
having to let go of everything
familiar and predictable,
free-fall into the unknown-
just like giving birth.

Written during Aimee's labor
10/23/03

She calls to the old ones,
"Make me strong.
Help my babe be born."
With bended knees
she pulls the rope
tied to a rafter.
Seated she sways,
arching back,
curling forward,
reaching into this day.

Wide open, accepting
each wave inward,
each push to the
shore of her being.
She remembers: The dance,
the circle, the singing.
She remembers.....

No piercing now,
not in this dance.
This body-drum
beating from the inside.
Each measured breath
swirls her through
rainbow time, past
butterflies spreading
their wings in the sun,
as if to say, "Open like this,
little mother, like this."

Constance Miles
10/27/03
Aimee's labor

"I'm so afraid,"
she whispers as
belly swells. Muscles
taut, well-defined
dancer's legs, cramp
and spasm. Shoulders
rise to ears with
breath. Rhythmic
primal sounds. Pcitures
of an earlier labor haunt
her. Fear grips the
mystery of now.
Waves of nausea
overcome her, and
her two-year-old in
the next room, hearing
her heave, laughs.
"Funny sounds," he says
 each time. A matter of
point of view.

"What do you think?"
I am asked. "How much
longer? Is this normal?
Baby okay?"
I stroke her back,
whisper reassurance,
remind her that she
can do this. She is strong
and powerful. She can do this.

Baby's heartbeat dips
as mama stands upright:
resolves with change to
sidelying. Mama, her body
convulsing with a surge,
welcomes Vida with a
bellow, Vida who has so
long been a presence in
this family. Vida, awash
in a flood of tears. Papa
weeps. Mama glows
triumphantly. Giddy now,
she exclaims, over and over,
"'WE DID IT! WE DID IT!"

1/23/06

1. Slowly you make your way
   down the hill.
   Suddenly a broad grin
   spreads across your face,
   and, with eyes closed,
   you laugh. Oh yes! THIS
   is what is happening.
   You pause to surf the
   intensity of this belly surge,
   the insistence of this moment,
   expanding into Wonder.
  10/27/03

2.She bears down,
   legs wide open,
   feet pushing against
   the sides of the
   squatting bar.
   Her beloved sits before
   her, arms crossed, hands
   gripping hers; and,
   with the next surge,
   pulling, curling her forward.
   He cried out with the effort
   and emotion oversomes him.
   She, after four days of labour,
   soothes him with soft voice,
   "Be strong, mi amor, be strong."
  
   10/30/03

He climbs up
into mama's lap.
"I scared," he
repeats. Mama
holds him close,
strokes his back.
Other times he
insists,"Constance
put Vida back in
mama's bottom!"
Then, pondering
this, "Baby in Ian's
bottom?" Mama
tells how gently he
touches baby cheeks,
with a smiling,
"Cute. Cute." What
a conundrum - this
mix of fear, confusion
and love as he pieces
it altogether, this
bigger bubble. So
much to think about.....

2/6/06

Cradling Aloe in her arms,
she bends forward and
showers her babe with kisses.
Lifting her head she declares,
I'm gonna suck that nose
right off your face and
then have it for dinner.
And then I'm gonna suck
off your lips. Your chin is
next. I'm gonna save your
cheeks for dessert.

Jenni, her own cheeks flushed,
her eyes aglow with new
mama love, looks up brightly
and marvels, She smells
like heaven!

5/5/06

In the quiet night,
in spaciousness,
in the deep, deep
stillness, babies come.
With sway of mamahips,
with music of moaning,
babies come.

Knowing this, trusting
and belly-wise, you labor.
Eyes closed, turning inward,
you lean towards your mate.
Ocean rhythms ebb and flow
within your womb. Yemayah,
Goddess of the Sea,
welcoming each surge,
each one bringing babe
closer to your arms.
Each one pulling you
down deeper. Each one
commanding: Now! Now! Now!

Now for urgency of space.
Now for placenta aging, dying.
Now for grandparents' longing.
You drop deeper into Now.
Now for parents' willing.
Now for mama ready to hold
babe on the outside, to see
and feel and smell babe
on the outside.
Now for this man's adoration,
for this man eager to be papa.

Three generations soon to unite.
Voices in the next room  - you
barely notice. You dance with
The Mystery, the infinite
circle of life.
You, Artemis, Goddess of Change,
cycling forward towards motherhood.
Arms draped back over rim of tub,
you tone in rhythm, legs splayed
seated by your mate. He adoringly
caresses, strokes hair, plants kisses.
You, eyes closed, turn inward-
deeper into being, deeper into Now.
Opening the gateway for your babe.

She comes, tumbling through
tangle of cord, somersaulting
into this reality of wieght, of voice,
of warmth, of comfort.
She comes into joy and possibility
into welcome and grace. She comes
into peace and surrender, into
hope and gratitude. She gazes up
from the arms of love with the
eye of wonder.

For Gretchen
11/15/06

Sliding into bed, I remember:
"Let's write a poem, nanny!"
you exclaim.
You offer me a pen and
look up.
"How DO you write a poem?"

But we don't. You're
distracted by Jada's
cry in the next room.
I bake muffins. Then
enter to find you holding
your new sister. Every day
now you slip from ordinary
time into bliss. It's a
peaceful meditation:
following her breath,
smoothing her hair,
stroking her skin.

THIS is poetry, love.
YOU are the poem.

3/7/05
For Iluka (7 1/2)

"Let's share nanny's jumper,"
says Lu to her sister, both
cold after a swim.
Iluka, 7, pulls my sweater
over her head and slips
her right arm through the
sleeve. She holds the neck
open for Kobie, 5, who lowers
it over her head. She slips her
left arm through the opposite
sleeve. They have become one
organism with two grinning
faces.
"Try not to stretch it out, girls,"
I say.
"It's okay, nanny," Kobie
reassures me. "You can grow
into it and then you'll
have it longer!"

3/28/05

You who sit beside the Breathmaker,*
vigilant witness to the pulse of Life,
the rhythms of souls coming into form,
of souls transitioning to spirit.....
skywalkers, earthdancers,
You who journey beyond map,
into places one might not go willingly,
if only one had far-reaching vision.....

You who journey with your mamas,
holding hands, soothing brow, mopping
tears and blood and sweat, singing sweetly
as mother to newborn babe,  Wiping
bottoms and fronts, pressing backs and hips,
offering fluids and food to mamas and
their mates, offering rest, guidance, silence,
sleep. You who journey beyond space
and time, beyond night and day, beyond
knowing when this part of the journey
will end. When? you are asked. Humbly
you admit to not knowing. You savor the
beauty in this, the preciousness of being
in the heart of the Mystery, over and
over again.

You who delve into the darkness with
knowing touch, with confidance,
you who swan-dive into fear, into the
heart of doubt and distraction, who share
the burdens of past violations and forgotten
terrors, worn like medallions just beneath
the skin.....you whose eyes light the way
to trust, to truth, to surrender.

You, the driven ones, the fiercely
faithful, the guardians of Birth,
you who have chosen a path of
relentless service  - you are to
be honored, to be held in the
arms of the Great Mother and
rocked gently to a place of Peace,
to a place of fullness in your own
belly-mind, to the knowing that
the world is a better place for your
having offered up your heart.

2/18/06
*(in memory of JP)