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

forever
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