Parturition Chairs I-V – by Isabella G Mead

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I

after a foldable and adjustable birthing chair, made of walnut wood, Wellcome Collection

How can a chair look like a scream? 
And why do its arms recoil? 
A cry trapped in polished walnut 

 

curves and re-curves. No frills in a shout. 
Sit here only if you want to feel six-legged. 
Where is the voice that birthed its legs? 

 

To see the chair is to see the sitter. 
Not body but design. Or the other way: 
no design but in the body. A backrest 

 

is only ever a back. Why embellish? 
I hate this chair. Give me an axe 
and I would split it open like a mouth. 

 

II

after a model parturition chair, London (1912), after a description by Roeslin (1532), Wellcome Collection

Now this is a chair for a job
if the job is to be expelled 
from a dim waiting room. 

 

Crafted from the memory 
of a town physician who lived
in an age of confession and flood, 

 

the chair considers its duty 
and performs not with flair 
but with the gravitas of the earth.

 

Cut-out tree, its solid trunk invites 
the body to oust its other life, 
deliver it wholly to ground. 

 

III

after a model parturition stool, 14th century, Wellcome Collection

 

A stool not a chair
not a thing for sitting
but for bearing

 

A strut in the shape 
of a wishbone 
to be snapped 
like a twig or a neck 
or a finger or a lid 

 

A miracle it doesn’t 
split or splinter
the leg of the sitter 

 

Consider the function
of the furcula–
to tolerate 
the wretched trials of flight

 

IV

after a notional parturition chair, classical Antiquity 

 

Olive oil rubbed into an armrest
turns the wood slick and fragrant:
a sapling once more. Hands grasp 
roots and branches, slip up over 
smooth bark. Olive groves beckon.

 

Submit to scent. The baby’s head 
crowning, yellow-gold. Oil, honey, 
salt, barley. Old ceremony. Rest 
awhile on sleek earth while softer 
hands usher baby’s first bath.

 

V

after Stiliyana Minkovska’s ‘Ultima Thule’ (2020)

 

Flop into a purple puddle. Climb the thistle 
then plummet into plum-hued upholstery. 
Summon the soothing power of mauve. 

 

Crawling is encouraged. Imagine this: 
you ascend the violaceous embrace 
of a versatile object. Not chair. Closer to

 

sling or resting place, non-Newtonian fluid. 
Lilac space-time. Behold the baby suspended 
between two worlds. A body can go anywhere.

Image: A foldable and adjustable birthing chair, made of walnut wood. Wellcome Collection.


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Isabella G Mead

Isabella G Mead is a poet from Melbourne whose work has appeared in journals such as Meanjin, Island, Westerly, Cordite Poetry Review and Rabbit. She is currently a PhD candidate in Creative Writing at Monash University and her debut poetry collection, The Infant Vine, will be published by UWAP in 2024. 

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