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Baby clean; haloed by the
Pink haze of disinfectant,
Hair capped back,
Face blank.
I’m marked with the sign of the cross,
The place where the knife enters,
Cuts through bone and nerves.
The surgeon said the scar will be ‘this big’
Stretching his hand, wide as it would go.
My unblemished skin mourns
Dancing frocks I will never wear.
Blue hospital nightdress folded
At the end of my bed,
Balloons into life with
Frayed white tags,
Mimicking modesty.
Three hours until theatre,
This is the unknowing time,
A dubious bliss of ignorance.
On waking I will be told
News I cannot
Refuse to hear.
Trees wave outside my window.
One nurse told me you can hear Blackpool Zoo;
Cries carry both ways by the wind.