In the family room
at the hospital, you
stood with your back to us,
all freshly scrubbed in a
long white Victorian nightie
with wet hair that hinted
of watermelons on a summer nite,
rosy cheeks and butterfly kisses.
They dressed you in clothes
that were not your own because
they were still searching your
luggage, marking your initials
on all of the tags...
and you played with three
other little children
and I almost forgot
you were in a psychiatric
hospital ward until
you asked if you
could hug me...
"Permission to hug you,
mommy...I don't want to
invade your bubble space?"
and I almost choked on
threatened tears.
"Honey, since when
have you ever had to ask
if it's ok to hug me?
I am your mommy!"
We drew at the art table,
put together a puzzle of
a baby duck in a field
of purple flowers and
watched the clock, not
wanting our hour to end.
Visiting hours are only
one hour a day~anything
else interrupts the routine.
At ten minutes til,
you took my hand in yours,
led me to the vinyl sofa
and climbed in my lap,
buried your soft head
in my bosom and said,
"Mommy, I don't want
you to leave!" We
rocked and fused
together, motherchild
sharing one breath,
one heartbeat until
the nurse made us
say goodbye.
All the kids stood
on the red line, as
far as they could go,
waving til the parents
were out of sight and
the door locked
behind us.
My baby girl,
no longer innocent,
was left there to
fight the evil
male voice that
haunts her.
Leave her alone,
demons,
she is only
ten years old...
You are taking away
something no child
should ever have to lose.
