# I was going to post more Lorikeets today, seeing it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday I thought I would put this up instead. I will scatter the Lorikeet pictures throughout future writer’s room posts.
I had many discussions with my Mother, often it would come back to my birth. She went into labour on Christmas Eve while busily baking fruit mince tarts. When I came into the world half an hour into the 27th I was dead. The cord had wrapped around my neck and I was blue. After the doctor made some attempt to revive me he said to the nurse, ‘He’s dead, put him in the bucket.’ In delivery rooms there was always a bucket under the table for the afterbirth and the stillborn. In those days stillborn babies weren’t classed as a viable human being, they hadn’t taken a breath. After the doctor had left the nurse began resuscitation, half an hour later I breathed on my own. She had attended at the birth of my two older brothers who had died at a few months old.
In World War 2 mother worked as an army driver, and had sad recollections of ferrying hundreds of troops to the coast for D-Day. Then as the war progressed cleaning out the wrecked tanks returned to the UK, usually with a collection of body parts smeared inside. An abusive childhood and time in a mental institution ( for complaining about the abuse ) gave her a harsh worldview. My two brothers were interred with Grandfather, one laid in each of his arms. Apparently when I started breathing she told me her first thought was, that she’d brought another soldier into the world who would die young.
A Mother’s Lament.
I see you lying there.
Covered in my blood.
My sacrifice for wars to come.
Another soldier, a killer, meat
for the butcher’s bill.
Stay dead, go, come back
but not as a lamb for the slaughter.
You’ll be safe in the ground
with your brothers.
Christmas is ruined.
Go back to the world of choices.
Come back but not as you.
No, stay – I need you.
She’ll save you, she cares more than I.
I know what is coming,
I lost my purity, my mind, I can’t protect you
Your blue, wrinkled dead face annoys me.
Stop staring at me.
I feel your dead black eyes in my soul.
You see my weakness. I can’t protect you.
You’re crying, breathing?
Find someone who wants a boy.
Who knows how to love.
You’ve opened your mouth.
Come here, take this.
Suckle, feed, grow.
Laurie Smith copyright 2013.
Yes that’s me and my mother. Once I was here what could she do but love me?