The first time I died
shortly after I was born.
Kept my limbs and flesh
even breath in my lungs
and yet that child’s hand got stuck
on iron cot bars.
A joyful bundle
wrapped in hospital gown
they brought her in
and gagged her mouth
put needles and fear in her arms
there was no light
yet her heart was beating for fast
She cried
anger spewing out of her mouth
the scream, the demand, the ignored grasp
those callous women walking by in white
there was not even the ghost
no stranger yet
floating in her eyes
She sat
pain spreading in her blood
syringe and medication instead of
mother’s arms
no nest, no hug.
In her baby mind
it was a life for a life.
Like a vampire
sorrow sucked at her heart
Little sobs through infant’s eyes
unable to shout
only those tears and loneliness
drowning her now.
She wept
for she was not loved.
I remember her
looking past the door forever shut
despairing and dying
her words numbly lopping around
Grey shadows dancing by
her fragile soul in their arms
So she laid down
with maggots crawling by
earth in her eyes,
on her chest and baby gown.
Wooden cubes of all she mourned
finally shattered around
She believed she was not good enough
to deserve, to plead,
to be alive.

She is I.

The daylight pulls me in now
and I loose the thread,
but never its touch.
My son’s tiny palms
gently pressed on my confused heart
bring her back to life.

Sylvia Farkasovska