Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Had that been the baby’s last kick?
She wonders looking back now at
The photograph Tommy took, with
Her standing by the bed with her

Hands around her pregnant swell. Hard
To remember, so much time gone
By since then. She holds the photo
Up to the light. He never was

Much of a photographer, left
Her once the baby’d died, not much
Of a man either. She studies her
Hands, the swollen lump, the hidden

Prize concealed. Half in shadow, the
Poor light in the bedroom back then.
Tommy laughing, goofing around,
Such is the way of men. She turns

The photo over, scribble on
The back. Something Tommy’d written
In black ink, indiscernible
Now, aged by time. Sometimes she can

Imagine the baby’s last kick
Although years have slipped by since that
Sad time and rubs her unswollen
Belly just out of memory

For those precious kicks. When had been
The first? The last seemed pretty much
Captured in her mind and soul and
Maybe the photograph. Hidden

From the celluloid, the hidden
Tears, the last kick of farewell and
Tommy’s blank eyes and stupid laugh.

slice of life and sorrow
good read

Thank you, Dave.