18 APRIL 1992, Page 33

I help the midwife make the bed, a sheet Of

plastic first, to keep the mattress clean, And then the draw-sheet, folded twice. I void The thought of beds they dig by spade and fix My mind on how to count the gaps between The pains and when to push but still do not Expect this gale force ten and you. Your head's A bulb that's breaking through the self of me.

I see you crooked within your father's arm As in a nest. One day I'll love you more Than I can guess. Right now, resentful, tired, Undone, I love and hate you all in one, Reclaim myself and watch you from afar And wonder — wonder who on earth you are.

Diana Hendry