| The bassinet still sat in the corner of the room, she couldn't bear to move it. The crib was leaning against the far wall. A box of blankets and stuffed animals seem to hold the crib in it's place. The new mobile she had bought at the Disney store, to match the sheets for the crib, lay atop the box. A small table lamp glowed softly against the bare walls of the room, as she sat in the rocker and wept. The pale yellow dressing table, full of new born clothes, mocked her grief. Silently she mourned. Outside, the sun shone brightly. The birds sang, flowers bloomed ... it was a perfect world. Couples took their morning walks, family dogs chased the neighborhood cats, children laughed on their way to school. To the woman in the rocker, that perfect world was too painful to view. She rose up, and in a haze, moved to the box of stuffed animals. Removing the largest one and clutching it tightly to her chest, she shuffled back to the rocker.Her moans were voiceless, her agony unending and nothing would ever be the same. He stood in the doorway, a witness to her anguish and felt her slipping away. He couldn't move, frozen in space and time. There were no words between them. They moved through their days in abject silence. He wanted to hold her, whisper in her ear that all would be well again, but he hardly believed that himself. As quietly as he came upon her here, he turned and walked away. Descending the stairs, as if in slow motion, he could still hear the rocking of the chair. As his hand reached for the doorknob, he paused and considered staying with her, but it was a passing thought as he closed the door behind himself and stepped out into the perfect world. GlassPoet ~1999~ |
| The Perfect World or The Child That Never Was |
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