By Anna Royle – Creative Writing Editor
I once saw a video of an elephant being born.
It smacked onto the grass like a water balloon
bursting into the world.
Your birth was not as quick.
The past four days, my thumb has been addicted
to the upper volume button of my phone,
the only news received: updates
on the back and forths to the Ulster hospital.
So when I realised, I wont be able to see
your stretched out cocktail sausage fingers,
and scrunched up tissue face
without the stroke of the sun, bouncing off the glass—
It was like waiting for a pineapple to finally ripen,
only to slide the knife down through the crunchy flesh,
finding it stiff, pale and sour.