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To the doctor who treated the raped baby and who felt such despair
To the doctor who treated the raped baby and who felt such despair I just wanted to say on behalf of us all that on the night in question there was a light on in the hall for a nervous little sleeper and when the bleeding baby was admitted to your care faraway a Karoo shepherd crooned a ramkietjie lullaby in the veld and while you staunched there was space on a mother-warmed sheet for a night walker and when you administered an infant-sized opiate there were luxuriant dark nipples for fist clenching babes and when you called for more blood a bleary-eyed uncle got up to make a feed and while you stitched there was another chapter of a favourite story and while you cleaned a grandpa’s thin legs walked up and down for a colicky crier and when finally you stood exhausted at the end of her cot and asked, “Where is God?”, a father sat watch. And for the rest of us, we all slept in trust that you would do what you did, that you could do what you did. We slept in trust that you lived. © 2004, Finuala Dowling
To the doctor who treated the raped baby and who felt such despair I just wanted to say on behalf of us all that on the night in question there was a light on in the hall for a nervous little sleeper and when the bleeding baby was admitted to your care faraway a Karoo shepherd crooned a ramkietjie lullaby in the veld and while you staunched there was space on a mother-warmed sheet for a night walker and when you administered an infant-sized opiate there were luxuriant dark nipples for fist clenching babes and when you called for more blood a bleary-eyed uncle got up to make a feed and while you stitched there was another chapter of a favourite story and while you cleaned a grandpa’s thin legs walked up and down for a colicky crier and when finally you stood exhausted at the end of her cot and asked, “Where is God?” a father sat watch. And for the rest of us, we all slept in trust that you would do what you did, that you could do what you did. We slept in trust that you lived. © 2004, Finuala Dowling