Antenatal Class (Poetry)

She was being kind — the nurse who said that she was sure
I wouldn’t be the only one —
there would be other single mums —
bound to be — after all
it was a boom year for babies and the class
was getting bigger week by week.

But on the night the dads were all invited
they sat in couples —
all except for me — that really brought it home —
the truth I was alone — my hand unheld
and trying to concentrate — focus on
the diagram of the birth canal and not let on
how watching them all so happy
was so hard for me to bear.

I made it to half-time — refreshments and the chance
for them to chat and me to get away —
I passed the kind nurse who said that I was brave
to come tonight — I nodded — swallowed hard
and fled outside where darkness let me cry.

I sobbed beside a bush — it heard me out — absorbing
my long complaint before I dried my eyes
and headed home — facing up to what it meant —
this foretaste of the coming years
of coping on my own.

Somewhere in its leaves and branches still
my grief is hidden — understanding written in small rings.
That’s if the bush still stands as witness
to that night so full of absence
and the ache of uncertainty —
the winter bud protected from its chill.