Her eyes fast forward through the scenes she's played.
A warm and milk rimmed baby boy, sleep slack against her shoulder as she hefts him for a burp.
A sturdy legged toddler kicking round a ball, skenning against the sun
A leggy youth awkward in his best shirt smiling, shoulder shelfing on his mum,
A son to grow, to outgrow her.
All halted like the stopping of a little clock.
She shyly shows the card they gave her on the ward.
I marvel, tears rising like fear in my throat to see the tiny print they made.
Who unfurled those tiny fingers?
Of a hand no bigger than my nail.
His weight five ounces
His length that of his mummies hand.
She wouldn't hold him though
But she's glad she has the polaroids they took.
She won't show them, they are for her alone.
Grief rises from her like a stink.