The Poetry of Mary Ellen Ugactz

THE MECHANICS OF BIRTH

They don’t tell you
        that they’ll ask you to lay flat
        on your back
        hold your own legs      
        from behind your knees

and pull them
        toward you
        as close to you
        as your bulging belly will allow

that he may criticize you openly
        for not knowing how to push
        for not taking LaMaze

You’ve only known him
        as the small grey-haired
        Russian who rarely smiles
        tells you you’re gaining too much weight --
                this being your first is no excuse

They won’t tell you
        he may deny you an epidural
        when you can’t bare it any longer
          Initially
              you said you’d try
                to go Natural
        But that was before
               the labor peaked
                paralyzing you

        Or that he may wait too long
        and then you’d have no choice

Natural Birth

        Pushing ­
        How can you push ‘wrong’?

“Breathe, he he hoo hoo’ she says
“When you feel the need to do so, push
and hold it til I count to ten”

The nurse thinks she’s helping
        She counts. But she’s distracted.
Her counting slows down, is off beat.
“Hold it, no, don’t make a sound”
But I release off cue.

Failure.
A failure at pushing.
At giving birth to my own child.

Time to hold my breath, to wait,
expel ­

We’re like two rhthym less dancers
on the floor --
I’m up to 10. She’s on 8.
I can’t wait
I expel

They don’t tell you not to moan or groan
before hand
Waisted energy.
But you can’t speak.

My face reddens
Cheeks puff up.
Vessels pop under my eyes.

Baby’s on the brink of crowning.

“You have to try harder,” he says.
“He can’t stay that way much longer.”

And all I can think of
        because I’m muted in pain
Someone save my baby.

I scream, fuck the rules.
I push and scream, I still can’t speak.
        Push, push, help.

Within moments, he cuts me,
and my son slides free.
        He’s wriggling, but quiet.
        I look at my husband and cry
        is he okay?

He’s fine. Beautiful, he says.
Lay quiet.

In a flash, he is weighed. I hear his cry.
And he’s cleaned,
dried.

And his eyes. --
        opened wide.

He lays in my trembling arms
                heavy
a big head-full-of hair boy

Eyes blinking thru the balm --
Hi Mom.

UNTITLED

Those were turbulent days
        like ships on scrambled waves
                we crashed & swayed
-- drifted
Til, in the orange tint of morn
        with belabored tired breath
                we were reborn
-- until dusk
But the blues and greys of night begged insight
        as I redressed, redid, relit
                the inner silent fight
-- I submit,

You held the string to my flight
        I was your kite.

JUST

We say it aloud
        loudly
        with conviction
as if to convince ourselves ­

Just one will do
Just one taste
Just one glimpse
Just one kiss
Just one
Just a tiny bit
Just one second
        moment
                minute
Just for now
If just once
If I just hold on
If I    just hold my breath
say a prayer
keep one foot on the floor
        at all times
Just see for myself
Just
Just
Just
It’s just what we say
to keep on going or
        get what we want
- now
if I can just end this here.
End.
Just.
End.
Done.

© Mary Ellen Ugactz

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