Listen, although your ears are stopped for good.
Look, and see my love, although your eyes are blind.
Feel the cup of my hand, your cradle,
although no touch will fire your frozen skin.
I‘ve held you deep within my body’s beat,
felt flying flutter and drum of dancing feet
tattoo new rhythms, and sing new
songs; your precious heart the score before me.
Now love’s labour’s done.
Brought forth with no anticipation,
hope killed;
life stilled.
Spooling out across the years your colours slide.
From needles stripped, the pattern, sly, derides.
Unstitched the fabric of our lives
and tore the stuff to shreds before our eyes.
Look back; I see your shadow flying forwards,
not futureless but written through each story;
a single, perfect, shining thread
tacks tight the tattered tissues of our hearts.
© Rachel North
UK stillbirth rates among highest of rich nations
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Rachel is a Nurse and has only just started to write creatively. This story particularly touched her because she has nursed women who have endured stillbirth.
