Poetry

Waiting for birth

Such peace under the walnut tree.
Tonight the pupazza will spin
around the village square,
and let off fireworks
from her arms, her back, her legs.

And as I watch the lizard disappear
into the shadow,
just where I'd last seen it turn,
I think of you and whether
you might be giving birth yet,
or have already given birth.

From here you can see the mountains. 
Small clouds inch past,
drops of water on car windows.
When I was little at the back of the car
I thought I could hear angels but it was my mum
singing at the bottom of her voice.

Ruth Yates