I am not sure if it is because of my age, the time of year, the world situation but I seem to be regressing into memories for my inspiration. This poem came while I was with the Bealtaine Writers in Annamakerrig this year. The Image is the first known painting by Francis Bacon and I saw it in the Leger Museum in Biot. There is no particular reason for putting them together other than I like the idea of it. As usual, enjoy and let me know what you think. Share the site with your friends too.

Thirty-eight years ago, she slid

between her mother’s thighs,

was u-turned, flopped belly onto belly

in all the glory of her gory fluids

Delivery for both was seamless

a major difference from before

Her cry was gently strong that told us

all was safe and well

we could come down from high alert

Her colour changed quite quickly,

blue to red to bursting skin tone

the faintest blood iron smell

rose up to meet our nostrils

A most striking thing that almost

did me in, her perfect little nails

already needed trimming. Her son

would later use the phrase

How did that happen

Then wrapped, unwashed I held her close

the fullest richest parcel ever placed

in my arm crook to make a lifelong bond

Peter Clarke May 2018