Joanna's Poem

I sat four hours in the waiting room
Watching women drinking glasses of water
to bloat their bladders for ultrasound scans.
At four o'clock I phoned my mother at home.

Gravid women passed with grainy photographs
Fuzzy grey-toned images of tiny limbs.
In five months more those hands would wave again.
I had a picture like that in my bag.

My mother came at six with Tim in tow.
I hadn't asked for him. He sat down
And took my hand. His eyelashes were damp
With rain and helplessness. She left us there.

Next morning the room they showed us to
Wasn't cold. I told them to take down
The flowery curtains. Tim insisted. Sadly
I turned my face to a gaily patterned wall.

Afterwards they brought me tea and toast
And Tim bathed my face with scented soap and tears.
Drops of creamy milk formed on my nipples,
My breasts ached to suckle my baby daughter.

A birth, a death, but in the wrong order.