Wishes sealed with a kiss

  För 29 månader sedan publicerade jag en dikt ur Rebecca Goss andra diktsamling Her birth som handlade om hennes dotter Mollys födelse. Det jag glömde att berätta var att boken handlar om två döttrars födelse och om den tidiga död som drabbar deras förstfödda. Det tar jag igen idag.
  Boken är en känslomässig resa, en kombination av dokumentation och bekännelsebok.

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  Första dikten jag har valt handlar om kroppens återhämtning och "utsuddandet" av det liv som fötts och förlorats.

Stretch marks, by Rebecca Goss
(From Her Birth. Chicago : Carcanet Press Ltd., 2013.)

My swims kept those scars at bay,
two thousand lengths it took, to form

my mapless globe. No trace she was here,
her travels around me refused to surface

as she dived between poles, lapped
that black belly ocean. Once born, meridian

of my achievements, she went off course.
I followed her divergent route, but this was not

her geography. I have wished for them,
a record of her tracks, all snowed over, gone.

***

  Efter att Molly har kommit till världen så får vardagliga händelser extraordinär betydelse.

Moon, by Rebecca Goss
(From Her Birth. Chicago : Carcanet Press Ltd., 2013.)

All day you've waited,
running from one end

of the house to the other,
as if controlled by its distant

pull. After bath, blanket
at your shoulders, we duck

the washing line, offer up
your goodnight wishes

from the centre of the lawn.
I forget my calendar

of scars, so eager are you
for the next night and the next,

your palm reaching
for its milky light.

We turn to scale stairs,
come to the cot's edge

where I set you down
on the low tide of your day.

Rebecca Goss reading from her book Her birth

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  Men hon har svårt att ta in att Molly är ett friskt barn med en möjlig framtid. Tvivlet följer henne ända till samlingens avslutande textrader.

Last poem, by Rebecca Goss
(From Her Birth. Chicago : Carcanet Press Ltd., 2013.)

So extraordinary was your sister's
short life, it's hard for me to see

a future for you. I know it's there,
your horizon of adulthood,

reachable across to stretch
of ordinary days, yet I can't believe

my fortune - to have a healthy child
with all that waits: the bike, school,

mild and curable diseases.
So we potter through the weeks

and you relax your simian cling,
take exploratory steps, language

budding at your lips. I log the daily
change, another day lived

with every kiss goodnight; wake
relieved by your murmurs at dawn.

Come and hold my hand, little one,
stand beside me in your small shoes,

let's head for your undiscovered life,
your mother's ready now, let's run.