A First Glimpse of Death

A First Glimpse of Death

Her screams pulled me from dreams
I should have dreamt all night long;
as her pain mingled violently
with the storm’s midnight song.

I leapt from my bed,
to peek through the cracked door,
to see her anguished face twisted,
as she paced the worn floor.

He hung from her arms,
lifelessly accepting her cries,
and the sound of her pleading
brought tears to my eyes.

She held him so tight;
she tripped and she fell,
the fountain gushed from her eyes,
erupting in a true glimpse of hell.

She didn’t notice me there
as the seconds ticked by,
I waited, and waited,
prayed to hear his small cry.

Then the house was abuzz
with white-coats and machines,
with sirens so insignificant
they couldn’t drown out her screams.

What happened next,
all happened so fast,
I’m sure I’ve forgotten something
as the years have all past.

I remember the ambulance
that took them both away,
and the family in grieving tears
as hours turned into days.

I remember the box
that held his small frame,
the paper that showed nothing
but his face and his name.

I remember the gentle kiss
that I laid on his cold cheek,
and the hand that held mine
was so crushingly weak.

I remember the bear
that she fisted so tight,
and the way she’d sit on my bed
so not to lose me at night.

As the years slowly passed,
and the pain should’ve started to dim,
I remember the instant backlash
when someone would speak of him.

Now she keeps a lock of his hair,
and that bear I recall,
she has not forgotten
but speaks his name not at all.