Behind Those Heavy Doors the Sterile Corridors
Cradled in her loving arms,
Swaddled in his cotton cloth,
Still Born.
Her piercing cries split through the air,
Thundering,
Echoing,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
Deafening silence
He bowed his head in disbelief,
Father,
Shaking like a leaf,
A lump,
A sore throat,
A whipping of the heart.
She took the baby close to her,
Peaceful,
Final,
Sleep,
“Breathe, little one”
“Wake up please”
She whispered
Denial
Hope
Evaporated like the morning dew,
Tears heavy on her cheeks,
She knew.
He knew.
Nothing any one could do.
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
His grief, their grief,
A tear ran down his cheek,
He clasped his face,
Eyes red,
He sobbed,
Robbed,
Immense their loss,
His heart wrenched,
A thud!
He collapsed into a heap,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
Loath to part
She gave the baby up,
Her pain,
Anger,
Hate,
God,
Fate.
The nurse,
A job,
Her curse,
To Bare witness,
Pain,
suffering,
Loss,
Behind those heavy doors, the sterile corridors.
Copyright © Klio Tsitsikroni | Year Posted 2017
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