How can there be a space left
That was never filled,
Except with expectation.
The wonder of a face
Setting eyes on this place,
For the very first time.
A name waiting to be uttered
An identity ready to be claimed.


You lay in starched sheets
Surrounded by cheerful pink walls,
Waiting to be discharged;
After a labour that brought forth
The remnants of a life.
While at home I waited
Wanting to know your pain
To share what was still ours;
Our son lay laughing in bed
Unaware of his own small loss.


Then, like a pilot
Over the radio, as the plane
Leaves its fragile flight,
Last words of someone already dead;
The sound of an infants cry
Came across the airwaves
Of our baby monitor;
I know a trick of frequency
Picked up from a nearby house,
But never heard before
Or since, such coincidence;
As though to say goodbye.