NaPoWriMo 2019 - Days 3 and 4

It's April 5th and I'm already behind today's prompt is a doozy . . . so I'll give it its own separate post.

Day 3's prompt was to write a poem that unfolds over a fair amount of time . . .

It is December, I am on the phone with my sister
She unintentionally lets me know that
Our family
Will be
Growing
By one.
But I can't tell anyone
It's too soon.
She will let them know when the time is right.

It is late March
My nephew has told my sister she is "big"
Her belly has become obvious
As the new little one
Grows
Under the surface
Deep inside
Cells are dividing
Multiplying
Forming into eyes - what color will they be?
Nose, hair, fingers, toes.
My sister announces it will be a girl
Excitement!
A niece finally!

The baby is due in July
And I hope to be there
I was in the room when my nephew arrived.

It was in November, I was called
Told my sister was in labor.
I called my boss and told her I wouldn't be at work.
Got in my car and drove two hundred and fifteen miles
(You think I'm joking?)
I was afraid I would miss it.
Someone should have reminded me:
Labor takes time.
We were at the midwife's clinic.
People were sent twice for food.
My other sister and I went for a walk
Down a trail through the woods.
"Tell us when its time to push"
Said my brother on the phone.
There was much discussion of
Progression
Dilation.
I went into the room with my sister.
It was dark.
She was laying in bed.
The pain - contractions - came periodically.
"What can I do?"
"Push here."
I formed my hand into a fist and pushed
Harder and harder
Til it seemed to help her pain.

Finally, finally
After hours and hours
Her water was broken
And soon after
It was time to push

Birth is quite a shocking sight.
For while newborn babies are small
They come into the world through a rather small . . . opening.

I think it was 2 AM when I finally saw him.
A tiny little baby
All new and pink.
Finally finally here.

Like all things worth waiting for,
Babies take time.










Day 4's prompt was to write a sad poem, perhaps using a sonnet.

I am often unaware
As it creeps in quietly
But soon I recognize it in my stare
I notice my immobility
When it comes to even brushing my hair
It makes itself at home
And it becomes difficult to wash my underwear
Far from my bed I will not roam
It lays on my chest and my mind wanders hazily
Simple tasks seem impossible
My days are spent lazily
Job applications are insurmountable
Always an uninvited guest
It proves itself a persistent pest