Reborn
I return to a light that is permanent and unkind,
a blur of hands inspects routinely.
I sense touch by sight, concern by the
bleep of machine.
They wake me, lowering
the cold rails of my crib,
to test the reply of my toes,
questions are asked with the poke of a pen.
I am told it is Thursday: A week has passed
since the shunt, shudder and give of glass.
They found me foetal under an oak
the glint of glass my beacon.
The kind one who charms my frozen toes
smells of lavender. When she plump's
my pillow her neck is near enough to lick.
Visitors drop-in to welcome my arrival.
Doctors do not lie, family fail
when they say I look well. Horror
shapes their brow.
Mother tells them to wash their hands
and to be gentle in their embrace
for I am fragile like a baby
and not yet ready for this world
Yes Vince, this poem so honest and true, recommended. Reborn , a very special poem, very sad and tragic, but such a clever write!! Thank you you shared this poem with us.
A dark and powerful write with a needed message for this time of year and hidden between the lines. As always Vince your pen brings to life the content with talented wordsmithing. Recommended.
You conjure up a picture of such depth I can feel it.