The Four Poets

 I wrote these poems and made these drawings in the three weeks before and three weeks after my son Marlo was born this past year. 

Created for The Four Poets (Issue #6). Originally published in print by The Swimmer's Group. Copies were said to be available for purchase through their website but I don't see it listed.  Many thanks yous to my friend and editor Brooke Manning for making sense of my nonsense but most importantly pushing me to complete this in the most perfectly gentle and firm way. I am glad Marlo will get to have this one day. 

 // Small disclaimer: I made this post from my phone (still often attached to a baby here!) So I apologize if the formatting is a little mixed up. I did my best!) //

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TWO IMPOSTERS /

Always waffling between crippling self-doubt and thinking

I am just okay

I am thirty but there is something to be said about my early twenties and its

accompanying

apathy

or the excessive drinking

Because back then I was fucking great and if I wasn’t

I didn’t care

If I were an architect entering my own building

I wonder if I’d still feel like a sham

An orchestra playing my song

at the Nobel Prize ceremony

I’m too busy to attend

Or

It just didn’t pique me

because an old friend is singing it

and I can hear that any

old day

I don’t care if anyone dislikes my work because

half of the time

I don’t like it either

Maybe I like when they don’t because

anyone who does obviously has terrible taste

in art

and anyone who likes me

has terrific taste in people

Who doesn’t like someone

as self-aware as I am?

Cash the cheque

before they change their minds

I don’t care if they burn it after they buy it

As long as they buy it

I say as I sip my drink

Maybe drag a cigarette

Depending where my insecurity lies

that day

Somewhere I’ve convinced myself

Not caring sells paintings

And I care about everything

so I don’t sell very much

Maybe I’m just not strong enough

to make the art I want to make

It has to be meaningless because I can’t explain

why it’s not

Imposter Syndrome is a real thing

I’m two weeks away from giving birth and I still feel like I must be faking it

The midwife measures me weekly

Thirty-eight, right on track!

The app says our baby’s the size of a watermelon

Visible kneecaps in my gut

move my patterned shirt

Even in my winter coat on dog walks

strangers stop and say things like

You’re about ready to pop!

I can poke my side and it pokes back 

But

I must be dreaming

Certainly I’m lying and

I’m about to find out

I’m just carrying cheese pizza

and sour candies

A parasite with arms and legs

A heart that beats

Eyes that blink

And a brain zapping

synapses firing

A mouth on a face that smirks and sucks

and cries, apparently

already

Not yet breathing air but sobbing

in there

What are you crying about

Do you feel like an imposter too

Is there a greater imposter than a parasite

A greater parasite than a fetus

You and me

Both up to something

Even when we’re not

Growing an eyeball

The time between paintings

Can both sometimes look like

nothing

I’m just waiting for someone to notice

I’m up to nothing

So I can think

I’ve finally been found out

Self-Portrait, 36 Weeks (2017) 

Self-Portrait in The Tub (2017)

Looking Down (2017)  

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COOKING A LENTIL /

A cute accident

One involving an old friend’s wedding and

the first time I ever wore Spanx

Perhaps the prettiest I’ve ever felt

Not thanks to the Spanx

Though maybe in spite of

Mostly because of the new dress and

The paper bra

He helped me apply

In the least sexy way

Everyone looks good in Navy Blue

And that’s the colour of the chiffon I was wearing

We selfie’d

We smoked pot outside the party

Barefoot

We attempting dancing

But I wasn’t drunk enough to not feel silly

We made new friends

An old teacher of mine

One story I look forward to telling is the part about you being an accident

An improvisational Act

Not a mistake but

We habitually tried to prevent this sort of thing

An abstract fleck in our minds

However far from the fleck in my womb

We had recently decided we were ok with

My mother would call it aging

But for me it was probably

Ovulating

Or maybe

You just had to be born

Or maybe

We were drunk

I knew you were in there

Size of a lentil

Because everything looked

different

Roads seemed to glow

And the sky seemed a rose-coloured goggle kind of hazy

Couldn’t tell you what was real

By the time I got home I was so used to

The idea of you

And I was afraid that I might have

Made you up

I’ve always said that I didn’t want to do it

Until it became all I wanted to do

When the choice was made for me

For a moment

I was terrified that being a mother would be more than

enough

As if that’s some kind of failure

As if I won’t annoyingly call you

My Best Work

As if you won’t inspire me

To make better art

As if I’m not an artist

If I’m only a mother

That Day (2017) 

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M. MAZE / 

It took an hour before I felt like he was mine

I had expected it to take longer

Perhaps days

He had his father’s face

And I could feel it under my ribs

When he’d startle himself awake in the warmer

He had a birthmark that matched

Three members' of my extended family

And a resting frown that matched mine

His first night outside my body

He seemed like such an expert at being human

Slept soundly

Making just enough noise

To assure his new parents he was still breathing

I naively thought the task of delivering him

Might be easy

Because I already loved him so much

And assume most people

Exaggerate their stories

I’d describe it as something

In the neighbourhood of a bowel movement

Not unfamiliar

But certainly of a terrifying intensity

The nurses kept asking

Are you feeling pain or

Are you feeling pressure

We can do something for the pain

But not for the pressure

And I couldn’t tell the difference

So I answered Pain just to be safe

On a scale of 1-10 what’s your pain level at?

They asked me the same question the next day

When it was all over

Granted, I wasn’t without pain but

You mean, Ten being childbirth?

And One being the relief I feel now that it’s over?

I assumed my answer would inform the drugs they give me

So I answered Five just to be safe

I was in bed for four shift changes and the first nurse

She had a drug for every symptom

The shakes

Feeling cold

Migraines

The epidural-induced itch

You just let me know.

We got something for that, too!

It seemed like she was trying to impress me

And I liked it

Don’t push

The doctor will be here in ten minutes

And you may need some help

He’s very skilled with forceps

He’s been doing this for forty years

I would later learn his name

With his hand already inside me

And I was just happy he was in there

While stitching me up he would say

When your house burns down

We have to carefully rebuild the foundation

Later, my husband would compare the delivery to

watching someone change a tire

Cranking and twisting

Leveraging

And I wondered if the doctor was just as skilled

With a tire iron

So many women have asked me about

poop on the table

Do you know you’re going to poop on the table

in front of your husband?!

I’m a catastrophic thinker maybe but

I was more concerned about something

in the family of death

And also

it’s a bed

He did watch me vomit on every hour

Felt the receptacle warm with each violent heave

Wiped the blood from my leg

Watched an organ fall out of my vagina

Held my hand as I writhed around

While the doctor carefully rebuilt my foundation

The moment it happened, 4:25pm

Three weeks ago this Monday

The same moment I had decided I’d had enough

A common-occurrence, I’m told

Vomit-stained facecloth over my eyes

Somewhere but not there

Suddenly he was on my chest

Gargling up amniotic fluid

Slimy and warm

Head full of hair

Birthmark on his belly

Scratch across the forehead

I’d been scared I might feel bad for being his mom once he

got here

But I was so relieved he was alive

I genuinely didn’t care his one eye wouldn’t open

Possible forceps injury

The side of his mouth, too

He may be paralyzed there, but he’s probably not

Said the paediatrician

Possible language barrier accounting for lack of

Bedside manner

I can’t believe you survived that

My husband said

We’ll just get him an eye patch

And I knew we’d all be okay

So drunk on baby after that

Watched him scurry to my breast

Just a minute old

Nothing else mattered but

Keeping him warm

And

That teaspoon of colostrum

And

His one dirty diaper

I didn’t even care I wasn’t the one

To announce his birth on Facebook

But then I read a headline that said

A CHILD BORN TODAY HAS A GOOD CHANCE OF LIVING TO SEE THE COLLAPSE OF CIVILIZATION ACCORDING TO OUR BEST ESTIMATES

And it was Stephen Hawking

Who said it

Fuck

What have I done

Keep Thinking About This Moment That I Barely Remember (2017)  

Seeking The Same (2017)  

〰〰〰〰〰 

THINGS SINCE THEN / 

A really tiny world

Full of really tiny socks

Ice packs in my underpants

Breasts that seem to ask to be touched

But don’t even think about touching them!

Nipples doused religiously in some kind of sheep byproduct

An eight pound creature who resembles my husband

Eyes grow wide

At first glimpse at anything resembling a nipple

A button

A knuckle

A nose

Extremely powerful latch

Learning about Letdown

Boobs tingle before he knows to cry

My body shrinks

While it makes his grow

Sudden epiphanies about postpartum hemorrhoids

They are not a burden

But a lucky barrier

Stoic warrior blessings

Protecting one’s carnage

From the body’s incessant needs

Inspecting contents of diapers

And pads

Shouting

Good job! When we hear flatulence

Or gas of any kind

He Sleeps But I Don't (2017)  

Doling out my own praise

After a successful trip to the bathroom

Relief

Because he’s alive

And also because my body

still seems to work properly

Midwife tell us things to look out for

Things that are normal

But don’t seem normal at all

Things like

Blood in the urine

Blood clots the size of golf balls

And be warned

Baby might cough up a few hairballs

Typing this one-handed

While my nipple leaks at my baby’s mouth

Just his

Or will any old baby do?

Attached all day at the breast

Literally attached, expert latch

Being told

This is totally normal

And not being reassured by that

Being told

This is totally not normal

But fully knowing

He just needs me

I hardly know my way around a baby

But I somehow know everything he needs

And usually it’s just the warmth of my skin

Or a clean diaper

Every Day   (2017)

Twelve Days In (2017) 

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