as I’m told, not as I feel
Tomorrow greeted like a finals exam, nauseated,
Jittery for its commencement, yet pale with unease.
I wanted it to be over, yet
What if I don’t understand the questions?
The clock strikes the hour, pens at the ready,
A haze of incomprehension,
No multiple choice.
Time to collect,
The accumulation of lovingly knitted beanies, booties, and miracle bears,
The tiny positioning pillow in lullaby print,
The name card, sympathetically laminated by nursing staff,
Le Petite Prince, creased at the spine, folded corners.
The meticulously packed labour bag, untouched, belonging to someone else’s story.
And a broken dream.
Go one way,
And Seven pounds twelve ounces of heaven.
In childs pose,
Cloaked in a gown dotted of bright colour that didn’t fit the mood,
Thick mop of hair prominent against stark white sheets,
A mothers promise in his ear,
His smallness magnified on a trundle designed for grown men.
My anguish swollen by separation,
The fierce thumping of my chest,
Instinct urging me to race after him,
But legs in quicksand,
On the fringes of motherhood.
Empty of her babe.
Trust, they echo.
He’s safe with us.
I do as I’m told, not as I feel.
I’m following you,
Just a few steps behind.
Don’t be frightened,
My lips dispel,
In weak effort to convince,
Rather than impart.