Lace poem

St Peter's Hospital, the Labour ward
Six a.m. In-between contractions
Rachel breathing like Darth Vader
On gas and air, I stand looking
Through the sheet glass
At the empty carpark, the grass bank,
And the winter trees sharp
Against the membraneously paling sky,
And I am struck by: how little winter trees
Resemble skeletons; and how much
Lace, something precious weaving into life.