to Caleb, again

I watched you for long hours,
finding in every uneven blip
of the heart monitor, a sign
you might still be there.
most newborns curl
in memory of the womb.
you lay sprawled like a starfish,
the ventilator moving you
in a parody of breath
and an IV extending
out from your umbilical cord.
every organ worked.
only your brain in trauma.

as a sleeping infant,
your sister would latch her fingers to mine.
all I could touch was your hand,
but when my pinky
wove its way between the wires
and tubes and cooling cap
and warming bed—all kept in perfect balance
so you would have the best chance
to live long enough to heal—
your fingers were still.

I wanted everything for you—
life. health. peace.
you had my love,
five days of struggle,
and a soul slipping away
beyond my reach.

when I finally held you close,
you were already gone,
floating away on a lullaby.

line count: 32

Prompt for: Jan 20, 2016 ▼

Subject or Theme: Someone or something out of reach
Word(s) to Include: (none) (or any derivatives of these words)
Forbidden Word(s): (none) (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words)
Additional Parameters: Must be 24 lines
Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or title or the brief description.