'Witness' by Pat V.T. West
29/11/2007
I was in the labour ward at your stillbirth
as a temporary orderly on hectic Maternity.
You were young like me - and very alone.
The Sister was a monster, a childless Miss
out to punish; her sidekick worse.
In awe of their rank and dreadfulness,
I couldn’t help you. I tried
to say kind words to you
but was told Stop that!
This woman has to push!
lying there unmoving between your quivering thighs.
I didn’t take it away. The staff nurse did.
To be incinerated, she said.
I never knew if it was a girl or a boy.
I didn’t see, no-one said and you didn’t ask.
I cleared away the bloodied sheets.
I too had lost something that day.
You must be, like me, around sixty now –
out there somewhere, but where?
Razed to the ground to make way for stylish
maisonettes, that old workhouse hospital nevertheless
still reminds me of your child each time I pass.
I write as my youngest son prepares to leave home.
I’ll miss our abrasive life
in our tiny single-parent flat,
but he has to grow into the rest of his.
I feel suddenly old, fear I’ll become very alone.
However sadly, soon or long ago they go,
our children remain part of us.
This much I am beginning to know
and want to share with you.