Morning Song

The month of March is referred to as Women’s month. And before we say good bye to this month, I would like to share here a beautiful poem by one of my favorite poets, the late Sylvia Plath.

The poem is about a mother and a child. It is a piece that mirrors the author’s experience of giving birth to and taking care of one of her children. It is an experience shared by women across different cultures and generations, whether they were the biological mother of a child or they took on a motherly role.

Morning Song
by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
 
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
 
I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.
 
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
 
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square
 
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

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