Still
….
The traffic in front of the hospital has thinned,
and in the garage, the barrage of alarms,
like a cacophonic ensemble, orchestrated
by a modified muffler, have hushed.
….
I yearn for you. Minutes like years ago,
you were born; still, I cannot cradle
your small body to my chest–
you’ve aspirated on amniotic fluid.
….
NICU nurses huddle around you,
cup a CPAP mask to your mouth
and nose, suction suffocation from
your forming-lungs, pinch your
purple limbs, monitor screens–
and wait for your primal scream.
…
Matthew Chronister is from Sacramento, CA, where he lives with his wife, Brie; son, Jameson; and dog, Bella. He teaches English at Union Mine High School, where he is also advisor for the Anime and Creative Writing clubs, as well as co-advisor for Poetry Out Loud. He received his BA and MA from Sac State. His book, Memory CareI, is available from Finishing Line Press, and his work has recently appeared, or is forthcoming, in Half and One and The Stillwater Review.
The Paddock Review 