1866 - 1903
I was Ida Kincaid
Wife of Charles
And mother of a pernicious brood of five sinister sons.
My first born required eighteen hours of excruciating labor,
And I should’ve known then!
After Charles, our son, finally had his behind swatted
By the venerable Doctor Lont,
Charles, my husband, smoked a relieved cigar under the willow tree there,
By the front porch of our Milton Street cottage.
My second pregnancy was like the birthing of a butterfly from its bulging cocoon.
The bloody struggle, I surmised,
Would be my last day on this Earth.
But Doctor Lont
With handkerchief and black bag in tow,
Adroitly saved my life with trembling hands
And a distant stare in his saddened eyes.
Miraculously and stubbornly
I pushed three more squirming boys out of my swollen aching womb,
With the fifth destroying my kidneys.
Charles never knew this,
But I must confess.
Doctor Lont, old Doctor Lont,
Kissed me when Albert first saw the light.
And for a minute there
Old Doctor Lont stopped trembling.