Three of us leaned over
the baby warmer surrounded
by needles and syringes,
the heat lamp causing sweat
to drip down our breasts
(or at least that's
how she described it
because she knew I
would write a poem)...
After about seven attempts
to re-start the I.V. on
our latest crack baby...
We never used to have
any crack babies, not
at "our" hospital but
it's quickly becoming
a sad standard...
She said, "How can you
see something and not
be able to obtain it?
It's right there...the
needle should be in!"
Her hands steadily
made miniscule movements
and we all held our breaths,
the pacifier in his mouth,
his arms, his legs...
three tense women
concentrating...
The tension had to be broken.
I cleared my throat,
"Well, have you ever
seen a rainbow? It's
there but you can't
touch it...kind of like
this baby's veins."
They both stopped and
laughed, rolled their eyes,
said, "Oh Jesus, Lori!
Only you would say
something like that!
We can see the poem now"...
Well, girls, here's your poem
in honor of the solidarity
we found in rainbows...
and needles.