Her midwife told her to reach down
to touch her baby
and she did as she was told
because she was desperate to be good at this thing
she knew she was failing at.
She wanted a gold star,
she wanted to be told 
she was doing everything right.

But it was hard,
too hard, this skull
that was a stone,
and she wished between contractions
that she had said no,
that she had not confirmed
that this was indeed impossible,
this impatient boulder
pretending to be a baby.