The waking sky
a glassy cerulean sea adorned
by wisps
of perfect white with splashes
of dancing pink flashes,
the cherry blossoms of spring
Shift over; no lives
lost but
new purpose found in a tired mother-to-be
new life whispered into a tiny heart
like a blooming mum in a dewy, fresh field

I delivered his golden soul last night,
Like Hermes of Olympia
He’s a premature rainbow, a fighter
She held her singing gift close,
safe until
I took him to the LNU.
The next rotation’ll send them home
preened and gift-wrapped

I can leave now. No?

My pager blares ‘LNU. 2222’
Then it was cold. Dark.
My talaria urge
me to his side.
Compressions.

1…
I’m losing him.

2…
O God

3…
ECG flatlined

But I push on
in vain with
hope.
That he’d cry, scream, thrash about.
Hope stained by bitter silence.

I want to cry, scream, thrash about but
no. Compose yourself.
I must repossess her little rainbow, take
that small chorus back
to Olympia.

Have you
crushed
a mother’s spirit
with an unwavering voice?
Told her that her little fighter now resides
among wisps of white? And hoped
that she’d cry, scream, thrash about.
Hope stained by bitter silence.

I guide her weary feet
to bed. And stay,
by her side
Wordless.
Till a new chorus, birdsong, chimed.

A hoarse ‘Thank you for trying. I would’ve –
joined him, but
your solace saved me.’

I can leave now. But this shift
is never fully
over