Just for a moment, I escape. Just for a moment, I cease
to exist. Just for a moment, ecstatic inside her, I forget.
Absolved. Then I see her blood on the sheets
, like a blow.
In the bathroom I scrub
it away, but I can't clean away guilt
Staring at my reflection, I'm back there again
with my child in my arms, his warm essence leaking away.
Later in the hospital I remember standing in a white washroom,
wiping away his blood, washing away his life.
I go back into the bedroom and look at her.
She is not my wife,
who won't stop grieving. Her face is screwed up; she
is wounded. She saw the way I recoiled from her blood.
She thinks I am disgusted by her.
Our intimacy is lost, and
I should explain myself. Guilt drips from me.
Unable to transmit anything real I offer her
"We must trust each other an awful lot".
Insufficent. She pauses, pauses for too long, and then
I'm hyper-ventilating. I Have to get out. I should say something
but I know that I can't,
I know that I will never be able to. Flight.
In the car I sit
with my head on the steering wheel, crying without tears.
When will I finish wiping away blood?
When will I be cleansed?