I wrote a little breastfeeding poem. Forgive my indulgence for publishing it!
Milk-cry
“BOOBOO!” You shout
Less crass than “BAPS!”
– the milk-cry of your sister.
Entangled elsewhere,
Hands dirty, arms full,
You dissolve;
“Booboobooboobooboobooooo.”
Sometimes, instead of “Mama!”
You try “Booboo?”
My sense, that milk is all I am to you,
manifest.
Then you call “Booboo!”
When you mean “Weewee!”
And I know it simply
Drips from your lips.
As natural as breathing;
Oxygen in/ “Booboo” out.
Sung through the day
Hummed in the night.
Our own home’s cuckoo;
Your heart-burst for Booboo.
(Despite having written poetry since being able to scrawl letters, I’ve only one other time shared a poem with others and that was moons ago. So yeah, yikes. There it was.
My Grandad Harry, who is ninety, is a prolific poet, writing several verses every single day. He has had books of his beautiful poetry published and each Monday he shares a new poem on Facebook. How cool is that?
I’m not imagining emulating my Grandad, but when poet Natalie Goldberg wrote that writing doesn’t exist until it’s been heard or read, I felt that if I was going to give in to the urge of writing poetry then I must give fully to it, and hit publish every now and then.)
And now, I’d love your help
As I finished this poem I wondered about all the other milk-crys out there and thought I might like to make an anthology of them.
Ramona loves to hear the story of her own word, BAPS! (Always yelled.) She asks how I knew she meant Mama Milk and I tell her how it was always accompanied by her extending her arms, pumping her hands like she was milking a cow, and then climbing on to my lap and stuffing her head down the neck of my jumper.
What have your little ones called breastfeeding? Is there a story about it? If you don’t mind me sharing it on this blog, please do leave a comment with your own kiddo’s milk-cry.
Thank you!
