I was swapping childbirth stories with my companion last night- him telling me of his wife’s pregnancies and deliveries and tonight I thought I’d write a poem about mine. (I’m trying to write every day for practice.)


The Gift at the End

Four times the test said yes,
three times I did deliver.
Labor inconsistent,
timing a puzzle
resolved by the sudden knowing -
time to go.

The first time, I threatened
a nurse with bodily harm
if she dare touch me
one
more
time,
then a daughter pulled gently into life,
resisting her grand entrance.

The second time a midwife
helped him enter,
measured breathing and panting,
prepared and ready,
a calm and cheerful
welcome to the world.

Third time a foreign clinic,
procedures misunderstood,
labor in the nude,
bright lights revealing
a cold hard space
as he tore out from me.

Each experience was different,
each outcome the same -
a baby, the gift
at the end of the pain,
each moment before
forgotten.



Poetry by Melinda K Zarate The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2026-05-18 at 04:38

Tags Childbirth 

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Sameen The PoetBay support member heart!
Very Plath-ian but also not. I am enamored by this poem.
2026-05-21



Oh yeah, I can relate. Oh those stories we share....not everyone's cup of tea.

Childbirth and every child spawned is a miracle of life and sadly, not valued the same way by all people. We could talk and sit down and share our stories, and I would love just treating you to lunch if I ever could.
Your last line is absolutely the universal truth. The more I know of your life, through your writing, the more I have come to like you, more and more. It's a good thing.
2026-05-18