Skye Hayli

By: Cindy Murphy

Eleven hours later, we wait not so patiently.

Time standing still. 

Reminiscent of Christmas Eve

during our childhood years

when we lay together

praying for Santa to arrive.

I systematically count for you:

three sets of ten;

followed by a deep breath.

The hardest,

yet most rewarding

workout of your life.

Caressing the swollen hands,

massaging your hips,

running my fingers

through your fine brown hair

because I want to

free you from the pain.

I see the top of her black-purple head

peering through you

and pray she will live,

and cry,

and escape the pressure of your pelvic bone

when they force your legs backward

toward your shoulders.

Suddenly the bed splits in half,

and within seconds all strings are cut,

and one becomes two.

The truth

after 9 ¼ months

becomes a reality.

She cries,

and then you,

and me. 

We count fingers and toes,

two sets of ten

and wait

not so patiently

as she lay there

with technology attached.

Until she eventually

ends up in your arms,

when two become one

once again,

and the clock begins to tick

too quickly.

.