Dark, Dark

The baby calls to you from his crib.
The room is dark, and I sit with him.
I tell him to keep on calling you,
that somehow you will hear –
I know he doesn’t understand me,
but I believe it anyway.
My soul’s voice calls to you too,
Come back to us. Don’t go.

People rush around buying presents.
Christmas soon, but I don’t care.
The lights and decorations
are only absurd; cards in the mail
talk about joy and other alien emotions.
I throw them in a pile and think
of you in your hospital room.
Something is wrong in your pretty head.

People struggle for words to comfort me,
and I thank them. They mean well.
The only comfort to make this right
is a warm you lying beside me.
The little boy stands in his crib,
points at the window full of night,
and says, “Dark, dark, dark.”
“Yes,” I answer, “it’s dark.”

I wrote this in December of 1986. My young and very pregnant wife had been stricken with a massive brain hemorrhage. I was caring for our 18-month-old son and trying to deal with the awful new reality of my beloved unconscious in neurological ICU. At the time I wrote this, we didn’t know if she and the unborn child would even survive. Everyone did survive and thrive, so this is a story with a happy ending, but it looked grim at the time.


  1. I can’t pretend to understand the fear you must have felt but you conveyed it here in a way that gave me anxiety and I feared, too. Glad the story ended on a happy note. Beautiful poetry, Syd

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thanks. That was the worst day of my life. The photo was taken a couple of months after she was released from the hospital. She did recover completely and the baby was born fine and healthy. I feel like I used up a lifetime of luck.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh, this is beautiful and sad and it tugged at my heartstrings!
    So happy it had a happy ending. 🙂
    Your wife is beautiful and that little guy is adorable.
    (Is that the one whose car you had to get out of the impound this week?)

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you. I was going through some of my really old files and found that poem. It was a bad day.

      The guy in the picture is the oldest son who is now 33 and has a daughter of his own. The car impound was on the younger son, 31.

      Liked by 2 people

    • Yes, she survived and came back better than even the doctors thought she would. The baby she was carrying is now a 31-year-old who is brilliant and one of my best friends. That poem was written at the time — wrote itself. All of that happened just that way. Maybe the most heartbreaking moment of my life.


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