Too Big

Standard

I cannot talk about all the times I’ve carried my daughter into the operating room

I cannot talk about holding her in my arms and rocking her in the chair near the door

The cold, metal table in view

The staff in scrubs preparing the room

I cannot talk about tickling her, singing to her, smiling at her

I cannot talk about rising from the chair and settling her on the sterile surface

I cannot talk about her arms clinging around my neck, her pleading voice

Her eyes fused with mine as I unwind her body from my body

Present her small face for the oxygen mask

Lean in close, hold her cupped hands against my heart

Hear her words begin to slur, her eyes roll back, and her body seize from the anesthesia

I cannot talk about how they warned us she could go cold on that table

With them

Not with me

I cannot talk about any of this

The feeling is just too big

The bitter taste of dread lining my throat

Still coats every word

@ Julie Ayers, March 2011

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About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

3 responses »

  1. I absolutely love this piece. Eerie and beautiful and perfectly, subtly, evocative. I love the no-nonsense way you handle images. Thanks for it, Julie.

  2. These words dear sister, took hold of my heart and my throat, a grip which i doubt will feel has been released for some time. love you

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