Rebekah Batson - Milkbath
-
there was milk everywhere
all over the walls
and curtains
sheets melted over me
the curves of my legs
splashing waves across the bed
i felt my mother’s hands
glide through the liquid
and wrap round my arm
cold finger heartbeat
tighter and tighter
til cold relief at last.
my eyelids used all my strength
and the air felt thick
and gluggy
my insides
angry and gurgling
almost expired.
i lifted a finger to find it trapped
in a tiny coffin
i lifted an arm
to feel wires pulling it back
and i was sinking
breathless.
-
still like a painting
with white cloud wisps
combing her hair
(or what was left).
crumpled skin like paper
and bright fluorescents
white on
white on
white
it made me miss her mother for her-
to watch a lonely child
begin to die in the hands of her children
their tight
ungrateful embrace
too hard against her fragility
too selfish against the tumour
pumping inside her breast
like a hummingbird
trapped,
its thumping wings
beating her
back to life
or at least
it tried.
but a mind is no contest
to a lonely heart.
plucking up
a family of her own
and dying
by herself.
-
I couldn’t picture her pregnant.
She was always,
Wide eyed skinny limbed
Lighter than me at nine months,
Not eating enough didn’t have the time,
Loved me with her
Bones.
Breasts filled with milk
And hearts with euphoria,
When we were blessed
With the Lord’s hand Himself,
Touched foreheads to a boy
Not much longer than my palm,
Sweating blood and crying out
For his forgotten home,
The fruit of thy womb
Dark and warm,
He met us at the
white and brisk.
And it wasn’t ‘til that second
That I watched my wife,
My morning and my evening
My long days and telegrams
My heart and my soul,
Become my God.
-
My Lord God, even now we accept at Thy hand,
cheerfully and willingly,
I held beads to her chest,
Amber and bone,
Watched her heave quietly in and out
Spoke in time with her blinking-
She’d opened her eyes at my voice-
She was scared,
I was supposed to help.
My Lord God, even now we accept at Thy hand,
with all its anxieties,
pains and sufferings,
A saviour-
I only ever wanted to be kind
Instead, I was angry
with God.
The wrath of tireless time,
His unfaltering love,
You were supposed to help!
My Lord God, even now we accept at Thy hand,
whatever kind of death
it shall please Thee
to be mine.
-
The air disinfected my nostrils.
Smelling right through my skin,
into my innards.
Her skin was yellow and dry.
It was the second thing I noticed.
I stood behind dad.
He held her like his own.
I knew hospitals.
I drunk purified air
out of flat roof top fans.
Half-drained boxed cartons of milk on
kitchen sinks and rocking tables
too small for more than a vase,
a few cards.
Condolences cards,
Can’t believe it had to be her cards.
My sister was one of six.
She was first.
I was last.
All that I remember was the hospital.
It was in her sleep.
They kept her asleep.
But there wasn’t anything
Anyone could do.
Not even dad, beads
Prayers.
I said them too.
I watched him recite
Memorised symphonies of plagiarised tales,
Nursery rhymes for the dead and dying,
A sweet song,
But no match,
To a hospital.
-
I awoke to missed calls,
Sobbing voicemails,
Collapsed on the stairs,
Took the first flight out.
12 hours. Lay over five.
9 more.
Shivering in stale aeroplane air.
Counted seconds, mouth quivering.
She waited for me.
That’s what they all said.
Ears pricked at my voice.
Smiled like she hadn’t in days.
As she played with my hair,
Stroked my cheek,
I watched her fall asleep,
‘Til it was all she could do.
It was late,
I lay beside her
rocking
talked to closed eyes
cried into her chest
traced her skin
squeezed her hand
and collapsed her lungs with mine.
She must have heard me weep
in a last surge of life
a last deep gulp
hyperventilating and
eyes fluttering
submerged
in a seizure
tears rolled down her cheeks
I called out for
someone to stop it-
the terror.
And pulled out
as if from a shipwreck
I was saved,
as she drowned.
How weary, how troubled,
does lie the woman in blue,
grinding teeth,
listen!
To her grinding tune.
How tired, little girl,
lay your eyes and head to rest.
Take your last quiet breath.
Alas!
‘Tis night too soon.
-
I pulled her from the bedframe,
Kicking and screaming,
Untangled arms,
Laced mine through hers,
Dropped her against the tiles,
Picked her back up again.
Dodged nurses,
Flapping doors,
My phone ringing,
I wanted to turn around,
I wanted to hold her hand,
But mine were full.
My crying child-
My phone ringing-
Almost as tall as me.
My blood stuck in her veins,
A gifted and talented,
Extension class dux dropout,
More me than I ever was.
Shook her shoulders,
Asked her what she did,
What she said.
I needed to know what she said
To my
Mother, my
Mother’s last vision.
-
Mitotic lesion.
It sounds
nicer
than cancer.
An
ugly word, for an
ugly thing.
You tell people
face to face,
Don’t call.
Touch their arm or
shoulder,
Let it
sink in.
We’re not
taught
to listen.
Just
to stare into milky white
faces,
and apologise.
-
Have you ever watched-
with weary and
watering eyes
walking alone
lone wolf waiting
walking
down second shift hallway-
the lights go out?
I couldn’t hold out
holding hands
hold your breath
phones and dead ends
heaps of humans-
writhing and calling out-
for someone who doesn’t
exist anymore.
And then it’s morning
mourning moaning ends
and I see them out
change sheets
throw away roses-
bodies out with the bath water-
and move to the next room.
-
There was always milk.
No matter the tears in my palms,
Blistering, scrubbing,
Blood,
Sweat,
Wet salt
Tears.
There was always milk.
Clinical asylum hostility,
Screams smothered by milk doors,
Light suffocated with milk curtains.
I couldn’t clean it off.
Bleach seeped out of sponges,
Dripped down arms
And back onto the milk.
Lino,
Sheets,
Skin,
Sterility.
Serenity.