The Manipulation of Life
A
Poem by Anna Hardcastle
Tight contractions impair my breathing
An opening appears at the end of a
compact, unyielding tunnel.
The touch of several pairs of hands
tickles my torso
Someone, somewhere attempts to rescue me
from within the passageway.
At last, cool air, a blatant shock against
washed-out skin.
Sharp, snipping blades pierce my own
miserable wails.
Warm, wooliness is swaddled around me
The pain is not overridden.
It surrounds my head; muscles; joints.
The inviting light is a guiding force,
still visible through squinted eyes;
It draws me ever-nearer.
My hand attempts to stretch toward it; to
reach, touch it
Only to find that feeble fingers still
rest inanimately by my bare side.
Warm hands permeate, with a shift of one
to the next
A succession of vibrating pulses pacify.
Audible bawls resume
Although my own have subsided.
My mouth is too parched to call out,
Limbs too weak to reach.
But my eyes open to their full, almond
shape.
With a great breath and a final attempt at
a stretch,
I fall head-first into the light
Only to discover
What awaits me inside
Is darkness.
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