It's Time
                            as my ovary released
stringy mucous, dangling from me,
soon time to have sex, before midnight,
before the ticking
shrivelled up my Cinderella egg
it's time
                             as my endometrium
did not erode but welcomed success.
A tadpole dot, an eye of DNA, splitting,
multiplying, shedding layers. Burrowed
itself in the wall of my womb
it's time
                            as my umbilicus popped
out and my lungs pushed harder,
heeded the placental need,
a cuckoo greed to plunder,
yet keep me sweet
it's time
                             as my uterus contracted,
squeezed and nudged him down the canal,
a walnut shell split to let him crown,
after forty one weeks, my white knuckles
and guttural breaths pushed him clear
it's time
                      as my body split open
to alter my breaths, for the next stage
as he slithered out,
creamed in his protective glaze
wrapped in a lemon blanket
we sought each others eyes.
A gaze to herald our time.
Irish poet and artist Lorraine Carey's work has been published in the following: Atrium, Prole, The Blue Nib, Ariel Chart, Poethead, The Honest Ulsterman, Sixteen, Vine Leaves, Live Encounters, Picaroon, Laldy and The Runt Zine, among others.
A runner up in both the Trocaire/ Poetry Ireland and The Blue Nib Chapbook Competition 2017, her artwork has featured in Three Drops From A Cauldron, Dodging The Rain and Riggwelter Press. Her debut collection From Doll House Windows - Revival Press is available from She lives in Co.Kerry with her husband and four children.