Stealing time

I. 23 weeks
He was so tiny as you grasped him, gasping
Tears leaking from your eyes
The first wail was not that at all
But the chilling, desperate song of fleeting youth

The doctor’s tongue made vibrations in the air
But the sound just bounced off your eardrum
She voiced what you’d already heard
As soon as you held him in your arms

 And you refused it

II.  23 pairs of chromosomes
You grasped them and, whispering, promised never to let go
You stole sand from the hourglass
And hoped the universe wouldn’t notice

III.  2 years, 3 days
A child, singing, round and round
The sound, a lovely ringing peal
A composition which, simply by existing
Determines to trounce fate

Toes spin above the ground
A petal drifts around your child’s angelic face
A smile touches your lips
Then a frown

A crease betwixt the eyebrows fixes
Your eyes widen as you see the sand melt together, turning to liquid
The toes stop going round
He slides silently and gracefully into the summoning black waters
Smooth ripples caress his face and he disappears
As if he were never there at all

The petal touches the quietly polished surface
The singing stops; the silence resounds
Someone should stop the playground roundabout
                  but it goes round and

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