Gleaming metal in hand
chills course through each nerve ending
as a Christmas eve birth unfolds;
sanguine sadness with each contraction.
She lays silent in the glow
of hospital sheets and fluorescent lights,
slow tears in the dark corners of her olive eyes
where whimpers replace words.
A drop of blood falls to the floor
a sparkling contrast on the sterile linoleum-
'deck the halls with bows of holly'
plays on from the nurses station .
Peering into the birth canal
the life blood ends
in dark clots, as the miscarriage continues
into the holiday eve.
We do not speak the same language
our origins far from similar
yet I reach forward and stroke the sweat soaked
wisps of hair from your face
and whisper "bless you child"
into the night.
