“Hi there! Look how strong I am!”
Is what I imagine you meant,
Kicking, pushing and bending,
Up against her belly.

In there, you two had your own relationship.
You were her little dolphin,
A comparison that only strengthened,
When we were told of your little flippers.

I felt you once or twice,
Letting yourself be known.
But much of our relationship is imagined,
A collection of hopes and dreams.

The first time I successfully got you to stop crying,
Putting bongela on your sore gums,
Your parents heading out for their first meal out,
Me cradling you on the sofa, willing you to not kick up a stink.

In Irish folklore Maeve is a warrior queen,
Her name means “intoxicating” or “she who rules”.
You certainly have us intoxicated,
You definitely rule over us.

I imagine you,
With the strength, determination and humour of your mum,
With the calmness, kindness and quiet power of your dad,
Perhaps as well, a little bit of me also, I can dream.

I write this, surrounded by a primary school trip on a park bench,
What would you have been like?
Pointing and jabbering at the skyline,
Or spinning wild stories of fairies that live in the undergrowth, like your mother before you.

I guess I’ll never know,
But my little collection of hopes and dreams,
Keep you alive for me,
And I embrace all the sharp warmth it brings.