Eight Haiku
dark shadows reveal
brothers entwined in my womb
one heart between them
exploratory
pincers and lasers punch through
they probe at my boys
I puff with fluid
morphine -induced dreams ensue
babies clutch for life
they call him twin b
curled up like a baby bird
drowning inside me
no need for pushing
tiny beings slide to light
the nurses are hushed
eyelids fluttering
a body thin as paper
he has toothpick toes
whisked from my embrace
now he lives inside a box
I tap on the glass
without a heartbeat
twin b stays in his pink tub
I should have held him
2 replies on “Eight Haiku”
Tremendously powerful.
This is beautiful Danielle. I can relate to so much of it.