She came alone,
messy auburn hair with curls flowing.
Tiny and silent
taking up a third of the bed.
They listened to her heart.
Shone a light in her eyes —
black constricted, the blue pools steady.
They spoke soft words.
Examined dark blackberry patches
legs, arms, left ear, right rib cage.
She was calm
She did not cry.
They ordered scans and blood work
(head CT, skeletal survey).
Fast transport upstairs to the PICU.
HPI: Fast fall down stairs at home.
She was quiet
The neurosurgeon,
“We’re taking her now”
NOW
White lenses on a black screen
contained within the skull
grasping skull’s edges to hold on.
Few things made sense
now.
She returned but her curls did not
Her head was the beginning of a mummy costume
She peered at me
She did not speak
We documented the blackberry patches,
we spoke to her softly.
The click
and click of the camera continued
Bruises on the labia.
Tears
from her grandmother.
Long conversations of attempted explanations
of white lenses and dark blackberries.
Sipping a juice box in bed
She did not speak
Funny walking, a minor dragging of the left foot.
Grasping a teddy bear, its fur smooshed against her face.
Two weeks of rehab
the healing of blackberries.
She never once cried,
She held my hand.
Down the hallway
I hear a giggle
a shout of unrecognizable words.
A tiny girl
taking up a third of bed.
A month of rehab
the absence of blackberries.
Short tendrils of auburn.
Her grandmother invites me in
tears of healing,
It was not long before they took them downstairs
Home
in the custody of her grandparents.
She said goodbye
She never once cried.
Image credit: Blackberry Bushes (CC BY-NC 2.0) by CaptPiper
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