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Deliverance by Barbara Reese

I held it in my hand, gender unknown

The blood sticky and warm

Taking repose, inside the crease, of my lifeline,

The rusty brown, half-circle path course circling

Delicately, down and around my thumb

I stared mutely at the pad, meant to absorb,

Not cradle

The miniature purple skull and curve of a limb,

Barely discernable, like a sacrifice

The dull pain, in my lower back, receding,

Outside I could hear the muffled voices, of my husband and daughter, the trill and


Mingled with the subtle hum of the truck’s engine,

The vibration like, the rhythm of breathing

The sound as furtive and as fragile,

As the dust mote slide, down, the wormhole

Guided chinks of light that poked inside the edifice,

Of a lakeside retreat, I leaned forward,

Head down, in a clammy sweat, bereft

No toweling, no spare clothing,

No receptacle

To contain or conceal, the overly premature,

Not too immaculate, birth, of what would later

Be termed, inevitable

I imagined my 2 year old,

Wide-eyed, demanding

Her curious, pudgy hands, always reaching

For any bit or bundle, always expecting a surprise

The confines of the truck cab, too close, to hide,

Too, close, to protect,

I did not think, beyond, that thought,

I simply let go, careful not to look,

Too closely, I watched the swirl of water

Rise to receive, baptize,

And deliver,

And stepped outside

About the Author

Barbara Reese is a published poet and essayist. Finding solace, refuge, purpose, and direction in the written word, she looks forward to tapping into other creative forays, including photography and fiction. She considers it a profound pleasure to be recognized by other literary enthusiasts.

Misty Ericson
Misty Ericson holds a BA in English & Comparative Literature from San Jose State University, California, and an MA History of Art from University of Leeds, UK. In addition to her work on HerCircleEzine.com, which she founded in 2005, Misty enjoys painting in her studio and restoring her home in the English countryside.
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