by Blue_Skies24
In the fourth room on the left, there is a boy,
only a few hours old but safe, his body fragile.
Sleeping in the arms of his young mother
who whispers his name and gives him a kiss.
In the early hours of the morning, she cries
for something she hopes he finds. Home.
Two nights in the NICU. Finally, he is home.
Already through so much, the baby boy,
but now he meets his family who cries.
“Born with a broken right leg, fragile,
the doctor called him.” Another kiss.
A fragile boy with a fragile mother.
“She’s been through a lot, that mother.”
Still quite young and still at home
where she now gives a kiss
every night to her sleeping boy
who rests underneath a fragile
sky. Her fragile boy. She cries.
He is hungry. He wants milk. He cries.
Scooped up into the arms of his mother
and given a bottle he grasps with fragile
fingers. Is this truly the proper home
for a mother and her fatherless boy?
She looks at him and gives him a kiss.
From his mother, a gentle kiss
silences any heart-breaking cries.
A toothless smile from the boy
to his poor, teary-eyed mother.
Within the safety of their home,
protected, for they are fragile.
Her signature is shaky yet fragile.
She gives him a farewell kiss
before she lets him go home.
Her family tries not to cry. She cries.
Can one still be considered a mother
if they no longer have their boy?
Every year on the same day, she cries.
After all, she became a mother
when she had her fragile boy.