of blind heroines and foolish heroes

iv. STILL

i stay up at night

thinking i can hear my baby

crying.

i lie in my bed and feel the sheets

beneath my fingers

and they turn into the starchy ones

of the hospital,

and i can hear the nurse saying

push

push

push

and feel myself

pushing,

until the nurse's voice dies

in her throat

and my hands fist in the starchy

hospital sheets

and i ask

what's wrong?

and in a steady, even voice

she tells me an answer

i do not want to hear

.

i stay up at night

thinking i can hear my baby

crying.

and there is a point at which

i realise

it is not her;

it is me.