Unnamed

 

Unnamed 

By Delphie

my family rose with the sun
though we hadn’t
in months.
sixteen.
we’ve survived behind drawn curtains
like roaches in corners, living 
in the dusty splinters of the light
we let in. 
like scavengers ravaging 
crumbs 
of stiffened crust and crusted paste 
clustered in cardboard pizza 
boxed-up waste
we could eat, once 

i found art in the mildew
crawling 
up the walls
i’d trace its 
vines, 
like ivy, 
my fingertip, a paintbrush, stained green.
acquainted months ago with
the sticky stench of warmed-up-damp,
now a friend. a companion
that cosied the air 
from the sting of the outside fresh - 
the rattles of its wind 
howling move on

the stuffed bear sat on the window seat staring
so longingly, at me, one button eye and 
a stitched up mouth 
bleeding 
synthetic fibres, pleading, whispering
fix me, fix me please
and i would say
you are worn from cuddles
aged from sleepless nights and the sleepiest dreams, bruised
from squeezes
drooled on - nuzzled and snuggled and - named.
but a lie
on my lips
those things would be 
but i wish.

my family rose now, often with the moon
often not at all
not in
sixteen months 
since Teddy’s death.
that’s one year, and four months, really, but
mum preferred to count time as if 
Ted was a baby, still. 
born 
as my baby brother. born
breathless, befriending 
death as i do mould on the walls
growing in a house too stagnant to call home.
still, the clock on the wall ticks on and on and on
as if that time wasn’t cut 
too short

too young
too innocent 

UK Support Helplines for Infant Loss