A Symphony of Peaches and Pinks

holding hands hospital        K. Barratt

I open my eyes, looking how the stars

and the horizon meet. Sky and land.

A kiss. And I think. Of you. Of me.

Of the touch of our hands, that first time,

on our way to Amsterdam,

the full plane, the snoring lady

of gigantic arms, who kept

pushing you to me.

Our beautiful fairy godmother.

And I see the first rays

of the sun and breath.

The beep, beep is still going on

and you live, made it through the night,

the doctor busy, doing his thing.

My lips bite each other, in hatred, in fear.

In hope. Then Mr. I-don’t-smile doctor

shows all of his teeth.

And it’s no longer a dream.

You live.

You are alive, breathing,

heart pumping, here, with me.

I weep.  I laugh. I hold your hand,

The sky turning into a symphony

of peaches and pinks.

And my heart beats.

Again. Once more.

You and me. One more chance

To defy the dammed stars

And be.

And you open your eyes.


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