Diagnosis

Steps falter, grief hangs around my neck.

“Run for us” the doctor’s say.

Wobbling, almost falling, he runs.

They are kind.

“Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” “Yes.” “Yes.”

The doctor, holding a tiny giraffe, watches his eyes intently.

Click, Click, Click

it stands, it falls, it stands, it falls.

My son smiles as his eyes, staggering, follow its crooked path.

Tired, he rests against me,

my useless hands twining his soft hair in the cold, blue light.

 

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