A perfect square of sunshine and a mop swirls over
Glistening floor tiles embarrass my well-worn soles
You've seen all this before,
blue buckets and yellow cones punctuate your progress.
This is not your extraordinary.
Paper curtains carefully lifted and draped
Different tired eyes and tears in oversized chairs, but the pattern's the same
A change of detail in a familiar tableau.
Scrubbing down surfaces following all procedures
scrupulous sanitizing of this artificial womb.
For me every movement, detail, noise
a revelation
Fearful, fascinating, unreal
Hands gripping arm wrests
Resisting impulses to tear the mop from your hands and sing your praise loudly
You have all saved me, my son, my soul, my heart
My sanity, my belief, my strength
On an early today and the sterilizing room's a mess
Your trolley rolls on
a soft-close exit from this stage
and I am left in the depths of my thoughts
to stare at the child I cannot hold
and wonder.
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