NO ONE CAME TO VISIT

no one came with flowers

no one came with pink

balloons or candy

no one brought pink dresses

to fit a new born –

Mother, she knew

no one believed

or wanted to see a child

who entered this world

a little over a pound -

medical men told her,

“She won’t survive the

night.”

Mother, she knew -

she knew when two men

visited

knew only one – but

knew of the other

one man sat to her right

one man to her left.

These visitors did not

bring balloons or candy

or a pink dress for their

new grand daughter –

a baby who would fit into

their palm -

a baby with tubes in

temples –

a body to small and

needles too large

both men died before

the birth of her child

her father spoke to her,

her father in law

listened. . .

 “Don’t worry she will

survive and make you

proud.”

Medical men entered

her room and mother

smiled.

Medical men warned

her – “Babies this small

do not survive.” –

Mother, she knew –

Daddy entered her room

she smiled.

told him their little girl

would survive

he pulled a chair up to her

bed, held her hand, and

listened. . .

He probably smiled back

he must have warned her

to face the truth -

mother, stubborn,

she believed.

A few days passed,  

the medical men told her

again –

a week went by, and she

smiled -

two weeks, the medical

men stopped talking of

death –

Mother peered through

glass at her baby –

lying inside a metal box –

inside with tubes and monitors

with no one to touch a child’s

grey skin.

She watched as a chest

was forced to expand

she prayed to herself –

she waved good bye - 

thanking the Medical men –

telling them she would be back

every day – to watch a child

who barely opened her eyes.

There was no touching,

or cuddles, no wrapping

of tiny fingers around her own,

no legs kicking, or laughing

when a child yawned, thinking

it was a smile

no one talked about their

little girl –

no one asked about the color

or her hair – her eyes or her

personality

no one asked if she looked

like mother or father . . .

no one talked.

Mother, she believed.

Every day – from summers

end into dead leaves of fall

onto ice on city walks,

she walked up a hill

to the hospital to stare

through glass –

her walk home - eyes filled

with tears, she recited an

Irish prayer.

Every day after work

father walked up the hill

to stare at his child he

could not hold –

laying naked inside a metal

bed with tubes still

attached to her forehead.

He watched as nurses

tapped the soles of her

feet – to keep her awake

to suck on a miniature

bottle – she began to eat . . .

It was the day before

Christmas - a snow

filled sky – when news

arrived – she could come

home.

Three months and ten

days after her birth

she weighed five pounds -

nurses wrapped her

in tiny booties

a white undershirt

a small pink dress - now

snuggled up inside pink

blankets

with open arms - mother

held her little girl

peered into her open eyes

pinched her little hands

and feet.

Mother, she knew

On Christmas day inside a

neighbor’s car they brought

their little girl home.

Mother looked at my father

and said, “I told you so,

she would survive.”

It was beneath their

Christmas tree – laying

inside a red wagon –

my older brother next to me

a red bow tied around my

forehead -

Christmas and I finally

made it home.

Mother, she knew.