It was the possibilities I lost
That day. Those hours, those years
Of football games
And packed lunches;
Of watching through the rain
To see you trudging
Wet and shivering from school.
Kissing you, steaming by the radiator as you dry,
One eye already on the TV.
“Mum, why can’t I?!”
“Because I said so.”
And later, head bent over school books
And secrets you think I am too old to notice.
Who would you be?
I did not lose a baby that day.
I lost you. And the possibilities.
That loss, stark against the antiseptic white and hospital green,
Like a living thing. You were not.
But you were.
And were loved.
Because I said so.
(c) Liz Smith, 2008
