It smelled
Sterile
Like crisp clean sheets and
Disinfectant and
Sickness and
Health
She was in there
In here
Somewhere behind a door
My cousin, too
Her mother
On her phone
Just eighteen
The father waited
Beside the bed
On the couch
With a smile on his face
That would be the last time
He truly smiled before
He left
But her,
her,
The smallest thing
She didn't cry but
I certainly did
I locked myself in the bathroom
For five minutes
Because my soul had
Opened itself at
The sight of her
Such a small thing
And so much joy.
YOU ARE READING
"untitled" - A life in poems
PoetryI refuse to let my family read this, but hey, why not all of you? . . . I've been wanting to post this for a while. This was my English final, in which I wrote 18 poems detailing 18 important points in my (then 18) years of life. Most of these are...
