I Brought a Girl into the World
and when I look at her, I see my eyes, her father’s lips, her brother’s nose. I see all of us as she makes noises that will one day form letters, words, sentences. I talk back like I understand every sound, so she knows she has a voice that can be heard.
I brought a girl into the world
and when I bathe her, I marvel at this is how my own body started. I see the breast buds that will someday cause her to blush, may one day feed another, will someday make her feel desire, and will every day define who she is if she lets them.
I brought a girl into the world
and when she cries, I tell her she is loved. When I read the news, I see what men can do to women and women can do to women and whisper things she doesn’t need to know until she’s older, but has to know so she can prepare herself; if such a thing can be done.
I brought a girl into the world
and when I feed her, I stroke her fingers. When she pulls away I’m glad because she already knows what she does and doesn’t want.
I brought a girl into the world
and when she sleeps, I place my hand on her chest. I feel her, a tiny throb in a xylophone of bones.
I feel her heart that reminds me of the finch at our feeder; small, fragile, free.
Clodagh O’Brien has been published in Bath Flash Fiction Prize anthologies, Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine, Litro, Literary Orphans, The Nottingham Review, and The Lonely Crowd amongst others. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize and featured in Best Small Fictions 2021. She always has too many books to read on her bedside table. Clodagh tweets @wordcurio.
