The Spouse awakens as the twilight grey
begins t'reveal light of dawning sun
with throes of pain and cries to call her love.
Our Pilgrim wakes beside her writhing form
and, sitting up, he asks to know what's wrong.
"The baby's coming," Spouse relays to him
through groans and sweating, try'ng to catch her breath:
"My water broke; I feel Progeny
is ready to arrive into our lives,
my love, thou'lt be a father, I a mum!" 10
Our Pilgrim is elated underneath
his anxious worry taking precedence.
"What can I do to help thee birth our babe?
Perhaps thou need some water from the well
to drink or wet a cloth within to keep
thee cool and wipe away thy warming sweat?
Or how about some food to lend thee strength,
as breakfast's coming up and thou wilt need
what energy thou possibly can raise?
Or I could hold thine hand if thou prefer 20
instead a moral kind of help from me,
or I could rub thy shoulders or thy feet,
or sing thee lullabies or give thee words
to boost thy confidence, or how about—"
"My love!" she cries. "Just shut thy stupid mouth
and drive to town to fetch the Midwife ere
I rip that bloody tongue straight out thine head!"
With "O," and "right," our Pilgrim runs outside,
preparing th'horses with an urgent haste
before he climbs upon the bench and snaps 30
the reins to start his speeding off toward
the town with heart that races in his chest
and pumps his blood with such anxiety
that by the time he reaches Midwife's house
his hands are shaking not from cold of th'air
upon his gloves. He raps upon the door
so rapidly that when her husband comes
and opens it his mood is soured so.
But on our Pilgrim's explanation doth
he rush to get his wife, and soon she's garb'd, 40
and with her bag of salts and salves and tools
she boards the wagon ere he turns around
and drives the horses back toward his home
with not a single thought of how this push
must be exhausting on th'equines that pull
his cart, for he is focus'd singular
on getting back to Spouse to help her in
this time of need—the most important they
will ever need cooperate to beat.
They pull into the driveway up to th'house 50
and disembark the wagon, rushing in
to tend to Spouse. He points the way toward
the bedroom for the Midwife to arrive
to th'wailing Spouse, who by the brighter light
our Pilgrim notices hath paled white
and sweated through the sheets to soak them wet.
The Midwife places hand upon the Spouse
to take her temp'rature before she says:
"I'll need for thee to heat a basin warm
with water. Also cloths to place on her." 60
Our Pilgrim after this doth still remain
for but a second thinking there will be
additional instructions. Midwife snaps:
"I meant that now, so quit thy standing round!"
He jumps to action filling her request
with hands that, as the water heats, still shake,
for nervousness is only mounting as
the morn continues on. The pain his Spouse
is in is unimag'nable to him
as member of the sex that dothn't bear, 70
but O, her cries—they rend his very heart
enough at least for him to sympathize
in some regard with primal human pangs.
Once th'water's warm'd he takes it back to them
along with rags inside it. Midwife takes
a cloth and wrings it out to place upon
the Spouse's forehead, damp and soothing cool.
From here she reaches in her bag and pulls
a vial with a corking cap she pops
to open up the tube, which puffs a cloud 80
of powder at the sudden pressure shift.
She holds the vial by the Spouse's nose,
instructing her to calm her breathing down,
and like a sedative hath been applied
she regulates her gasping and her groans.
The Midwife says without a glance to our
protagonist: "I think tis time thou leave
and wait downstairs, for often do I find
the constitution of a man is made
exaggerated by his ego's pride." 90
Our Pilgrim gets the message and agrees
that likely he would faint if made to watch
for any longer than he hath endur'd
already at this point. He exits th'room
and makes his way downstairs and takes a seat
beside the table, resting elbows on
its top as fingers lace before his lips
which move to mouth a quiet sort of prayer
to Sky and Earth to lend his Spouse the strength
she needs to make a father out of him; 100
and also doth he ask forgiveness for
the ev'ry wrong he's made within his life
and even those he now remembers made
by th'other in his mind, who now it seems
aligns with what he wants and dothn't hunt
as once he did before, with change of heart
that makes him want the same that Pilgrim wants;
to raise a fam'ly ere his time is done.
It's with this silent prayer he breathes into
his hands that hours pass whilst unaware, 110
with only cries of Spouse above to hear
and guilt at th'uselessness of him in this.
Eventu'lly, however, do her screams
recede until there's something else t'replace;
a higher sort of cry, a nasal tone
that wakes protagonist from reverie
and causes him to jump up from his seat
to scramble up the stairs and through the door
where now, inside the room, he Midwife sees
with back to him and something in her arms 120
that cries at suddenness of being born.
He's frozen there, his feet are stuck in place;
his breath is caught within his chest and tears
start welling in the corner of his eye.
The Midwife turns to give him but a glance
without revealing what she holds to him—
with something unexpected in her eyes—
before she turns to Spouse again and says:
"Come, dear, your baby's just been born to thee.
I'd think it best to hold thy baby boy 130
and let him suckle for his nutrients."
Her tone is almost pleading. Pilgrim looks
to Spouse and sees a distant, gloomy gaze
hath now befallen her, and mute remains
the Spouse to Midwife's words. Our Pilgrim now
approaches from behind and says aloud:
"Perhaps I'll hold our Progeny and show
my Spouse the beauty we have introduc'd
upon the planet with the love we share."
With hesitation doth the Midwife turn 140
to show the crying bundle in her arms
all wrapp'd in lighter reds so masculine,
yet soft enough to indicate a babe,
and when our Pilgrim gazes on his son
with arms now loop'd to cradle him as she
bestows him over, do his lips now part,
for what he looks upon—this countenance—
is something somehow not of human spawn;
complexion dead and grey, yet bearing heat;
its teeth are in and pointed sharp as beast's; 150
its eyes, in briefest glimpses that he gets
are beady black and fill'd with malice fierce
that rages like a maelstrom pure with hate.
Our Pilgrim gives the creature back to her.
He glances t'ward his Spouse who still remains
at distance from the surface. Then he turns
t'egress the room without another word. 157