Poem: The Butterfly and the Matriarch

An Ode to Two Midwives: Jan Ireland & Kylie Wallace

A woman carries a baby.

Now, two midwives set out to 

carry mother and child - 

to lift bride and baby 

over the threshold.

On a hot summer day

Butterfly parks her car and opens the door

of 34 Fraser Street and

goes straight to the lounge room,

she knows the way.

Her step is light

as the birthing woman

does her heavy 

grunting work.

Matriarch is already here,

a palpable forcefield of birthing wisdom.

She is ready to do the practical,

to do whatever is necessary.

She knows the mountain this woman must climb

and she waits.

Through long labouring

the midwives bear witness,

holding space.

Butterfly attunes to the baby,

midway between this world

and that other world.

She sends

a river of silence to

ease the physical impact

for this new soul,

while Matriarch

watches over the mother,

gives her hands to be gripped,

and says only a few words,

as the mother feels her way through -

the moment of birth - 

Butterfly is poised - wings still -

the Matriarch yields to centuries of knowing,

the oxytocin weaves its magic,

another woman is open-mouthed to see her baby,

and love reigns triumphant!

The midwives are in the background

discreet with their private awe.

It gets them every time,

the wonder of a baby being born.

They clean up, share the joy,

check all is well,

then they step back over the threshold. 

They are wives, married to life and 

another good day’s work is done.