Collision with reality Rex Sweeny

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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