Lying like a giant
amongst skinned rabbits,
your chest dips with the effort
of each newborn breath
whilst away downstairs,
clutching the precious Polaroid,
I restlessly sleep.

Woken far too early,
I’m taken quietly to you,
almost unrecognisable now
beneath a snakes nest of
tubes, as machines bleep and
yesterday’s sudden elation
turns into weeks of fear.

Who could ever forget
the passing of that child
who had never known home,
the anguished screams
in the corridor, a mother
just missing the final breaths of
the boy who shared your name.

Like a giant you lie sedated
new drugs releasing your lungs,
before you are gently woken
to lie safely cocooned
against your father’s chest
and we know one day soon
we will finally take you home.

(c) Catherine Walter 2016

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