A poem about foreseeing my first pregnancy…
I was bathing under the Sicilian sky
when a white feather floated down and caught my eye.
“It’s an omen!” I exclaimed, and from then on I knew
that the following month I’d be carrying you.
Reproduction is science and we know how it works –
but there’s an element of mystery too.
And so even those who’d normally damn the spiritual world
might suddenly notice ‘signs’ coming through.
When we try to nurture nature – to make it go our way –
we realise the magnanimity of this quest.
Because the earth; its energy and our chemistry
will be manipulated by neither wit nor zest.
Both fans of superstition and the non-believing mass
can grow anxious and so open their eyes wide
to any indication of things going their way –
appearing as cryptic symbols; in disguise.
So your conception was marked by a fluffy falling feather
and now I’m desperate to see your face and to hear your baby blether.
That’s why I took great solace in the petal that just fell
from a bunch of pure white roses – it’s a sign, I can tell.