[stylist] Song writing prompt

[Jacobson, Shawn D]

Wow, that was intense.

>From "The Wizard of Oz" to troubled pregnancy.  I think it was a very good piece, but it seems fragmented at times.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Monday, February 11, 2013 10:27 AM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Song writing prompt

Here is my attempt at this writing prompt. I think my song choice will be pretty clear, grin. I'm a bit rusty; this is the first thing I've written from scratch in six months. I'm still in mommy la-la land, so forgive me for the subject matter, grin. It's rough, so comments welcomed. It's only 880 words.

Somewhere over the rainbow way up high, there's a land I dreamed of once in a lullaby. I croon to you in dulcet tones as the moon hangs low caressing your sleeping form. You sigh and turn towards me, arms extended above your head. I smile and snuggle your wiry frame. Your downy mound of hair tickles my face. My heart is about to burst from my chest, overflowing with love, with joy.

The weight of your body has been felt in my embrace for years. I gasp, unsure if this moment is real. The stillness of the night creates my heaven. My baby boy cuddles against me as I hold him close.

A river slides along breaking me into consciousness. Sprinting into the bathroom, I yell for Ross. Warm liquid gushes around me as I feel the tell-tell tightenings travel down my stomach. I feel no pain, just continual tightenings. His little body pushes up against my abdomen. But there's no pain; I'm unsure of what is happening. The pool of water I'm standing in, in the tub blares like a siren, and I shout, "Ross, I think I'm going into labor."

The morning is fringed with a hazy glow. My breathing is steady as people whip around me. Ross holds my hand as nurse's remark on the intensity of my contractions- yet I still feel no pain. I speak to my baby, my son. In a little while I will feel his tangible weight in my arms.

But the world falls around us. Rhythmic beating pulses, emanating from me. It shakes the world. They tell me you are showing signs of fetal distress, and that I can't handle a long labor. An emergency Caesarian is scheduled.

Numbness swallows me from the waist down. A nurse whispers in my ear how well I'm doing. Ross grips my hand. I'm lost, focused solely on my son as a slight pressure pulls at my abdomen.

They pull him from my body, bleeding and broken. Ross sniffles.
Everything is muted except my baby, but he makes no noise. Don't they cry? Aren't they suppose to cry? Nurses giggle about how adorable he is, yet no sound. Finally he gives one squawk before they take him. I'm left alone as the doctor stitches me up.

I feel disjointed. He's not with me. My mind hones in on his, but this fracturing feels wrong. Just a little longer and we will be fused together again, my sweet boy.

Ross strokes my long hair as the doctor explains the unexplainable.

"We didn't anticipate this. We're not entirely sure what is happening."
The doctor clears his throat. Papers rustle between the heart beats.
"We're sure this will all resolve in twenty-four hours though." The door clicks shut and he's gone.

But it doesn't resolve in twenty-four hours, not forty-eight hours, not a week. Ross forces me to come home, to eat, to sleep. These daily, fundamental tasks allude me. I sit in your empty nursery gulping for air as my ragged cries fill the room. Tears drip in torrents down my pale face as I suffocate from the silence.

I'm terrified to name you, to claim you. I steal myself, not wanting to imprint you upon my heart, but it's too late. Your soul has fused with mine. Long ago I felt you touch me, claim me. Yet I'm terrified, seeing only darkness in the distance.

I wait each day hoping for good change for you, my darling baby boy. My standard reserve of strength threatens to run dry. I lock myself away, trying to handle my emotions as I deal with doctors, nurses and your precarious situation.

Darkness seems near the horizon. Your silent cries, from being in abated, shred my heart; my heart so swollen with fear and pain. I am brittle, fragile to the touch.
I will not lose you; I will not lose my strength. I will shatter this moment and throw it into the winds.

I pray the Lord, my soul to keep. Softly, gently, the words shape.
Buzzing and humming, they breathe into the ebony silence, chiseling against solid darkness. Moonbeams puncture this drawn shade, silver filtering through shadows. Liquid silver laps my wounds, embracing me like a lost friend.

And you're there, smiling, always smiling. Ross drapes an arm around my trembling shoulders. You move closer, tip-toeing through moonbeams.
We're together- all together, safe, near, a family. Our hands graze, and my heart expands.

In my arms, stroking my cheeks, you reassure my existence, and I can't contain my heart. It swells, pushing, arteries pumping liquid love. From behind, Ross wraps his arms around our bulk, cradling, protecting.

Somewhere over the Rainbow trickles from my mouth. Ross strokes both our heads; experiencing his warmth inching through our veins. The moonbeams pixilated into silver drops, falling around us. Droplets moisten my cheeks as you kiss me. Sweet, golden kisses sealing our bond.

And you are well, my baby, my Declan. We are leaving, going home.
There's no place like home. I embrace you as we leave the hospital. The weight of the NICU pushes against our backs. I feel the pull, the draining sensation of desolation. But we are gone, gone. We follow our road home.

I wished upon a star and have wake with the clouds far behind me. Our troubles have melted like lemon drops, and I have found you. Starlight grazes our rocking shadow. You sigh, arms around me, your head nestled into my neck. In this midnight tableau, we are cocooned with wisps of silver moonlight

Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter, editor, Slate & Style Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
 
"If we discover a desire within us that nothing in this world can satisfy, we should begin to wonder if perhaps we were created for another world."
C. S. Lewis


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