The Last Child
Eileithyiai – she comes to her aid
The rural land is furtive
Death is the epitome of childbirth
This is her tenth baby. Her heart is weak.
She yells. She yells.
Her husband- The Lord needs a son
To carry his name to generations to come.
Eileithyiai comes to her rescue.
Or does she?
Before the science, there were wayward goddesses. And wayward gods.
Eileithyiai was the most capricious of goddesses.
She arrived late. Often too late if the mother to be angered her.
She lets out another yelp. Her heart is racing. Her face is mauve.
Her Lord husband goes for a run.
Her babes are frightened for their mums.
She curses the day she set foot in her husband’s home.
Life is sweet and dear. She knows it now.
Yet the door of her hooghan is still shut tight
In her broken heart, she has no more fight.
Eileithyiai arrives
She speaks aloofly to the mother to be
Her lips are ruby and perfectly made.
“Another push!” She orders the mother.
No more pushes left in me!
The mother pleads. Please do something
“I am a goddess not a miracle worker!” Eileithyiai shrugs her shoulder
“You push the baby and I catch her!”
“Her?” the mother lets out another yelp.
“Yes, it is another girl!” Eileithyiai says.
The mother’s heart is too weak.
She won’t bear another child for husband
She vows and one last push.
A miracle happens. The mother is alive so is the perfect little girl.
Then the science happens.
The capricious goddess is no more.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
