“AAAAAHHHHHHH” She screamed in Strained agony. Sweat rolled from her red face, legs baring down against the stirrups and in the wee hours, a boy was born. Outside, his Father inhaled deeply and coughed the foul cigar smoke, then drank deeply from an offered flask. He glanced around the corner when he heard the scream, a slap, and the cry of First Breaths mixed with the laughing cries of Mom return his gaze. The night grew quiet and his father motioned to the delivery room. He turned the corner and went to meet the gift of his new son. The swinging doors whooshed behind him. The nurse shrugged a gown over him, sliding and tying behind him, he continued to the bedside. Hair plastered to her forehead above a radiant face, Mom rocked their new child in her arms. His knees wobbled as he looked around the room at the littered bloodied refuse of birth, and the bond created today, She handed him the swaddle, “Look what we made.”
The rockers squeaked against the old porch decking. The familiar rhythm of the cupped joints backing the whispered song. “Don’t worry”. He hummed, “about a t’ing..” He smiled to himself.” Every little t’ing is gonna to be alright..” The rocker slows and settles between the beats, the child sleeps. The screen door glints in passing street lights as she pads onto the porch, back hand catching, silently resting the door into its frame. She kneels next to the chair; her hand lightly caressing the new wisps of blonde hair. Laying her head against the chair, she closes her eyes, and breathes in Family. His earthy wooden musk mixing with the powdered newness filled her completely. Her muscles relaxed, she nodded into sleep, with a light snore the dreams come quickly, when the child erupted. A hick up stops the wail. She looks at her husband expectantly as his eyes slowly open, knowing it was going to be a long night.
The child grew young as the he grew old. The tractor strains pulling at the dry earth. The tires spit dust as he shifts the beast into second, swinging around intending to furrow another swath. The gas was low and this was the last chance he would have to plow the land, from here on out he would work the land by hand. Walking slowly, sowing the seeds that would feed his family, his rhythm rooted the quivering sound of the cottonwoods by the barn. The leaves green, his hand stopped, and slide the seed back into his sagging pouch. He walked curiously to the grove, absently dropping the bag, he knelt next to the mud, hands working into the soft soil. The wind blew hot dust from the field that settled nearby, quickly was absorbed. He smeared the cool mud on his face, and laughs to himself as he rolls onto his side, the water soaking his worn dungarees.