Collision with reality This isn’t what it seems: a small room, scarcely more than a cubicle, high-ceilinged, glass all round, a standard hospital space. My oldest friend attentive at his wife’s bedside: she’s injured but beaming, vigorous. And beside her a miniature bed containing a miniature person evolving from crimson to pink and reporting the journey in a tongue that lacks consonants. I’ve disparaged parenthood, childbirth, all that – so tempting a stance if you’re unattached and screwed-up. Now every word’s refuted. This isn’t what it seems: a commonplace hospital box. It’s huge, it fills me with awe – an invisible cathedral. Something so big has happened here there’s no architecture to express it. Take off your shoes for this is holy ground.
Rex Sweeny
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