Paula Burns
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Scratch

Scratch, scratch,
scratch in the night
I fail to reach him
though I break my skin
searching for his skin.

In this hospital bed
he requests winding tape
for a factory turbine – hallucinates
the dull sheen
of machine metal - in the ghost
of a past life.

Then enquires – ‘where is the bairn?’
I know not who – we are all grown,
His children, grandchildren, save for the
little one – just born – the one he will
never know.

He places both hands in mine,
instructs me - I must click, click,
click them together – saying this
improves the circulation, then he pulls
at my wedding ring and I try not
to cry.

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All artwork and written material is copyright © Paula Burns 2015.  No reproduction or use without the artist's consent.