A spark in the dark

They are giving Corinne a new drip,  

I have to go,  

they don’t want me to watch.  

My child!  

Each time she gets poked,  

I’m sent away,  

a rabbit caught in a snare,  

waiting for the hammer to drop.  

 

Corinne had another seizure,  

in their scrutiny,  

the nurse’s light danced on her eyes,  

and it twisted again,  

this nightmare that won’t end.  

 

I sought comfort in a chair,  

transformed with scissors and curls,  

yet the red under my eyes  

tells a different tale.  

 

Then the therapist appears,  

"Can you live with half a brain?"  

Questions like daggers,  

making it hard to breathe,  

the tears spill,  

uninvited,  

as I stumble through this storm.

 

"You ask questions! That's the end of it!

 You're driving everyone wild 

with your questions 

and not making it easy for any of us."

The tears started to fall again.

 

William is stroking Corinne's curled hand.

"Tell me," I sob, "am I asking too many questions?"

 

Nobody knows the answer yet, nobody.  

I stand here, a weight 

they can’t seem to lift, 

tear-stained cheeks,  

my heart pounding with the hunger

for understanding.  

 

They glance my way,  

faint smiles flickering, 

like candles in a dim room,  

but their eyes don’t meet mine,  

they look down, away, 

as if they can escape the questions  

sitting heavy in the air. 

 

William leans close,  

soft words,  

“Your hair looks better now.”  

A small comfort,  

a patch of warmth  

in this chilly silence. 

 

We settle down,  

resting in the quiet  

that surrounds us.  

Not so many convulsions anymore,  

hard edges softening  

like a storm passing. 

 

I catch a glimpse of her 

out of the corner of my eye, 

and maybe - just maybe - 

there’s a tiny smile, 

a flicker of hope,  

coming from her direction. 

A very tiny one,  

but it glimmers like a spark

in the dark.