Ellen Clayton
Technicolour
On bitter winter days the greyness
of our world engulfs me.
Lockdown and a lack of joy:
the four of us
marooned –
an island in this home.
Scared to venture outside,
the monotony of home-school
is a blanket of frustration:
tempers frayed; patience waned.
But, there’s you.
Kicking away in my womb –
shades of flesh your only colour palette.
Blissfully unaware of the unsettled world
you will be born into.
Your heart beats alongside mine
and I press my hand to my belly.
Death, devastation dominates the news
but
I feel you,
strong and pulsing with life;
pushing into my palm.
The thought of your arrival;
sniffing your head and inhaling
the perfection of a life beginning.
Imagining holding you to my breast is
hope,
a ray of golden sun on the horizon.
And with your birth will come spring:
longer, lighter days and
the joyful possibility of hugging
my parents.
Tulips and daffodils
will begin to bloom;
marking flecks of colour and joy
in our familiar landscape.
I cannot wait to hold you,
precious,
in my arms.
Together, a family of five,
we will shake off the last vestiges of grey
and begin anew, in glorious technicolour.