2 years old, curly hair, chubby cheeks
16 months of her life spent in this hospital
Every morning, I watch her wiggle in her crib
Still unable to sit up by herself
Tubes, lines, drains strapping her down
I worry her first-word murmurings will be her
recited one-liner
These 4 hospital walls her only home
Parents nowhere to be found
A cry: nurses classically conditioned to the
sound
Rushing to her room to pick her up
I hold her on rounds, she goos at the ceiling
I remember a childhood book, the little bird
squeaking “Are You My Mother?”
I wonder, does she question ‘Is This My
Home?’
