A collection of poems born of the death of a baby
by Elizabeth Monaghan @buffence TFMR mama to forest
How the end began
Beneath the aluminium concertina
A corridor contains a window
Looking over a hollow of the hospital and
The occasional seagull.
Here inside
Pregnant people fidget and hide
In alternate plastic chairs
You kill time deciphering
Portuguese posters
Autism, domestic abuse and
Lest we forget
Covid.
Eyes flicker behind masks
Occasionally making split second contact
You smile any chance you get
Glad, so glad to be there
Carefree and curious
You feel utterly impervious.
Weird whistling fanfare
Precedes your name call
You skip down the hall
Smiling nurses, open doors.
To the room at the end on the left
Where you swing onto the bed
As you roll down your trousers
And lay back your head
Predictable mural is ready
To capitalise your eyes
By the power of six balloons
Tigger flies!
With dancing butterflies
Through sun dappled trees
People are passing in the corridor
Busy little bees.
The doctor begins her work
She seems at ease
Your hair whispers
To the paper on the table
As cool, sweet smelling gel
Gets spread around your navel
You stroke your sides
Cold in the middle
You look up
And almost giggle
Abseiling speckled grey ceiling tiles
A cut out Winnie the Pooh
Dangles from a thread.
“It’s a boy.”
Reality shifts slightly
Images and visions dance
Through your head
Memories yet to be made
Unraveling knotted thread
Unfolding like a map
Playing on beaches
Sitting on laps
A boy!
Eeyore is suspended close by
Missing his tail.
“Something’s wrong...”
Piglet lets go and
Falls to the floor
Leaving the drawing pin
That held him before
The doctor never shut the door
And people are passing in the corridor
Unaware of their presence in this —
Is it a hallucination?
She’s kidding right?
Seems very cruel to give you such a fright.
Everything’s fine.
We were fine.
A collection of poems born of the death of a baby
by Elizabeth Monaghan @buffence