The corridor to the morgue is wide and empty, and softly lit.
And this bearded old man, burdened with presents
desperately searches for the door marked restaurant.
Then I see her, small and heavy like a tiny battle ship,
her radar hand scanning her cargo
of two hundred and seventy delicate bones.
In a buff envelope tied with green twine is an x-ray
of two spiny aliens, one slotted inside the other
both dependent on a pelvic anchor.
Her smile is much like my wife’s and I am grateful
she does not know what I do. Or how glad I am
to feel her child respond to the touch of my palm.
Wishing all my readers Happy Holidays.
©Natalia Spencer 2015
This Poem, first appeared on The Poetry Shed. Go read more excellent poems.
Thank you Abegail Morley.