My most significant departure
Was from the womb, I suppose;
Though I don't remember it,
Of course. Upstairs,
Back bedroom of my granny's house.
Forty-eight hours in labour!
My mum complains, as if
It were somehow my fault.
Yes - and what about me?
Surely it was more traumatic,
Which is why I don't remember.
Thirty years later, I parted company
With good money on therapy
To re-live and release
This trauma. Upstairs,
Back office above a high street shop.
Forty-eight minutes of screaming
My head off, in the company
Of complete strangers. What
A rip off. If nothing else, I learnt
It's not all about me. Mum says
I don't have the sense I was born with.
