THE BECOMING OF ME

I'd be the first to admit
I was present at

my own
birth.

As was everyone
at theirs.

But I attended mine
with full consciousness

even if it was
my mother's

who in the telling
and re-telling of the tale

making me experience it
as it happened

down to the tiniest details
and so it was I was

born again and again
in her voice

in the tale of me until
her memory become my own.

So there I am
watching myself being born.

The labour ward radio
singing Ce Sera, Sera

either to sooth or
to drown out the screams.

My mother pleading with Doc. Cahill
"Oh will it be a boy...please make it a boy!"

And the Doc. answering in the demotic:
"I don't *know Ita...whatever will *be...will *be!"

Then I put out a toe
to test the world and

Doc. Cahill is able to tell her
it's a boy at least!

And here I come
all 2 lbs of me!

All energy.
Speedy.

Popping out fast
heading for the end of the table

only to be caught by
an even speedier nurse who. . .

"Got ya....ya
little divil ya!"

It was '56 and I had come
prepared to rock 'n' roll man

sideburns better than
the King himself.

Only to be sung into being
by Doris that day.

"Oh he's got such a little *** ***!"
my mother moans.

"Don't worry..!" smirks the nurse
with the big big hands.

"It will grow!"
As indeeds it does.

And so they myth of me
begins.

I a tiny pebble in the stream
of my mother's voice

giving me her memory
for me to see

the me
of me.

"What are ya gonna call
this little fella?"

I get the kiss
and the caress of the Irish

"He will be
a Dónall."

A big name
for the little fella.

And see how the Irish
elevates me.

I, now no longer
a nameless entity but

"World Mighty
Spear Power!