The Lotteries

The nature of luck changes, too.

In the two-week window between ovulation and a test

that will say ‘no’ when the body holds its ‘yes’ in secret

you read books, pamphlets, websites that bring to light

that the odds of conceiving on the first try

are up there with being swallowed whole by a shark

or kidnapped by terrorists, that each month yields a two-day

chance

and even then, it may take a solid year of trying, and

when the small white square shores up a second line

luck is against you, with one in four of every such lines

ending in miscarriage, particularly during weeks five and seven

which is when you barely move or sleep,

and when the nausea hits – more violent than any other,

toes to scalp –

someone mentions that this is lucky.

In the widening span of nine months, more luck unfurls –

lucky that the day-and-night sickness lasts only three months.

Lucky that the first scan shows a heartbeat, the second, health,

lucky that the withering anaemia subsides

with pills (and the constipation isn’t chronic),

lucky that the pelvic condition isn’t eclampsia,

lucky that this is your first baby and so you can rest,

lucky to live in a first world country, blessed by the NHS.

And when thousands of such mines are dodged

you are lucky to survive the birth. Many have not.

You are lucky that the child survives, and when the bleeding

won’t stop

you are lucky, again, incalculably lucky,

and you return home, under the gold light of luck,

cornucopia of blessings:

clean water, a cot, infant-friendly bedding,

and when you are not lucky

with breastfeeding – not such a simple act of nature,

it turns out –

you are lucky that the baby takes to the bottle easily,

you are lucky when she sleeps four hours’ straight,

you are lucky that Tesco delivers,

you are lucky when toast can be eaten before it is stone cold,

you are lucky to have a shower before 3 pm,

you are lucky that maternity leave is four weeks at full pay,

you are lucky when the stitches heal, the bleeding slows,

you are lucky to find her each morning still alive, pierced

by the knowledge

that somewhere out there, some other child has not woken –

and so the world goes on opening its many bright hands

of luck

and when you say thank you

the lanterns of mercy ascend to black skies,

changing the nature of night.