“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label SIDS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SIDS. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
(S)he
She has not looked at her nails
in over a month
except in rude irritation
for snags.
Out of the corner
of her eye-
She is spooked
by a haggard figure
staring at her
in the mirror
on the far wall.
She can taste her own breath
and wonders briefly-
what or when was the last thing
she ate?
She scavenges frantically
for anything
quick and small
in the kitchen-
but first does the dishes
and takes the trash-
and gets the phone-
She makes promises
and hurries about.
She feels a draft-and then-
wraps her robe tight.
She makes sure-
She makes good-
She hopes she makes it-
She is needed
to make sure-
She is not wrapped
too tight-
She forgot to check
if she was still breathing,
since swaddling
now causes SIDS-
and the mirror is
opaque and dusty.
Image of painting by JoaquĆn Sorolla c. 1895[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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