No Ordinary Day
On the ward, they allocate a bed
by the window. Mum phones out
of the blue with an updated list
of the dead and diseased.
I tell her I have miscarried.
This goes unacknowledged.
A midwife squeezes my hand
as the blood pressure cuff
releases its wheezy grip
perforating the silence
stretching out like a scream.
A tea trolley trundles by.
Swollen bellies wait for reassurance
doing the rounds with a Doppler.
I’m promised a commode. I gush
and leak through two large pads.
Through brand new satin pyjamas,
the midnight blue of concealment.
She says its raining here;
I’ve washing out,
I must go.
Dandelion clocks somersault
past the streaked glass.
I make a list of things to burn.
© Lorraine Carey
Lorraine Carey
The Loch Raven Review 