EZRA
“P u s h, b a b y, p u s h! Come on, you got this. Yaya, breathe. Come on, breathe.” My voice shook as I whispered to her, forehead damp, hand gripping hers while she squeezed mine like she was trying to break a fucking bone.
Yaya’s screams cut through the sterile white room as her legs trembled in the stirrups. Sweat glistened along her chest and her bottom lip was raw from biting it through contractions. I’d never seen her like this and I hated not being able to take her pain away.
“Ezra, I can’t. I can’t!” she cried out, voice cracking, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
“Yes you can,” I breathed, voice raw and thick. “Yes, you can. You are. You’re doin’ it, baby.” My heart had never pounded like this. Not during shows. Not during interviews. Not when I dropped the book or signed the deal. This shit was something different.
“Alright, mama,” the doctor said, voice calm but firm. “Next one’s coming. Take a deep breath and push hard, okay?”
Yaya nodded shakily, and I leaned in close, pressing my forehead to hers. Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled in mine. “I love you,” I whispered into her skin, barely holding myself together. “You hear me? I love you so fuckin’ much.”
She cried harder, and when the next contraction hit, she pushed again with everything she had. “One more good push,” the nurse said, voice rising with urgency. “This is it!”
Yaya gritted her teeth, sobs in her throat. I brushed her locs back, kissed her forehead and held her hand tighter. “You almost there, baby,” I whispered. “Almost there.”
She screamed, back arching, body straining, and then came the sharpest, most beautiful cry I’d ever heard in my fucking life. Everything stopped. The doctor moved fast, retrieving my son, and the nurses swarmed with quick hands. “You’ve got a healthy baby boy,” the doctor announced, voice softening.
I broke. Right there beside Yaya, I broke open. My knees almost gave. My hands covered my face. I couldn’t breathe from how hard I was crying. I probably looked like a damn simp but I didn’t give a fuck. My son was here. Our son. His tiny screams filled the room, and one of the nurses turned to us with him bundled in blue.
“Would you like to hold him?”
I looked at Yaya, who was sobbing, eyes wide and glowing. “Go ahead,” she whispered through tears. “Say hello to your son.”
My heart thundered in my chest as I stepped forward, hands trembling. When the nurse placed him in my arms, the whole world slowed to a hush. He was so small and perfect through all the bullshit. Brown skin with a head full of curls, his face already scrunching like he had something to say about entering the world.
“Damn,” I whispered, voice breaking. “You’re real.” I looked back at Yaya. “He’s real.”
“I know,” she whispered, exhausted and glowing. “He’s ours.”
I sat down beside the bed, cradling our son gently, holding him so close I thought I’d never let go. I kissed his forehead and leaned my head down to Yaya’s. “You don’t know how long I been waitin’ to meet you, Elijah,” I whispered to him.
Yaya reached for me, and I passed the baby to her, watching as she cradled him with a tenderness that made my damn chest ache. Elijah settled in her arms like he knew that he belonged there. “He looks just like you,” Yaya said, voice thick with emotion. “This is crazy.”
“Thank God he got ya eyes, though,” I whispered and she chuckled.
Later, when we settled into our room, Elijah was resting in the bassinet beside us while Yaya was curled against me in the hospital bed. I looked down at her, her head resting on my chest. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did,” I said quietly, rubbing her shoulder. “But watchin’ you bring my son into this world… Yaya, you’re fuckin’ everything.”
She lifted her eyes to mine, tired but glowing. “You stayed. That’s everything.”
I kissed her slowly and watched as she drifted off to sleep with my mind traveling back to the third night I saw her. The open mic night. Back when this was just a spark I didn’t have a name for yet. Back when she sat in the back with her girls, sipping wine and glowing under the dim lights. Her brown skin caught the soft gold like she was meant to be worshipped. Her locs were tied up, big bamboo earrings swinging when she laughed, and a dress that hugged her body so perfectly I almost forgot half the lines I was about to spit.
I’d gone on stage and said everything but her name that night because I didn’t know it yet. And when it was over, after the snaps and daps and drinks, I couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t let her walk away again. Not when the universe had already shown me her three different times in that same damn lounge.
I had no idea back then that the same woman would one day be curled into my chest with our son sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside us. I’d made a name for myself worldwide damn near, signed a deal, performed at sold-out shows, and had my voice playing on radio stations I grew up listening to. But none of that touched this shit. None of it touched her.
I looked down at Yaya, who was lightly snoring on my chest now and I felt it. All of it. The poetic beginning, the disappointments, the arguments, the walking away and coming back. I felt the chaos, the missed calls, the pride, and the pain. But fuck all that, I felt the love. The kind that doesn’t just write poems but rewrites lives.
I wasn’t a lost poet anymore. I was a nigga who followed the rhythm of his heart and finally landed on a love that never stopped humming underneath it all. This wasn’t just poetry. This was home.