Paint swirled and tipped,
and she caught her breath for perhaps the millionth time that night
as her eyes caught on the painted blue walls,
the crib that sat nestled up against the wall,
lacking for now the baby that will one day sleep within it.
Her eyes hardly ever lack steely determination
and yet today,
she feels weak.
Trisha's hands tap out a long forgotten beat on her legs
as her eyes flicker towards the room around her,
looking for a white smudge on perfect light blue,
looking for the kind of mess that should feel permanent,
to trace these walls out
and erase their scars
isn't really what she feels capable of,
"Mommy"
cries a voice behind her,
and she wobbles when she tries to grab him away from the doorway
and sees his father in his eyes, in his hair, in himself,
yet again.
She doesn't remember fainting,
just crying, crying, crying,
just remembers the broken chasms of her heart,
and the fact that despite everyone's support,
she goes home to two,
not three,
never three again,
and she cries despite the hospital bed around her,
barely even recalls the child in her womb,
probably another boy as well,
to tear her heart out of its resting place,
twist and bleed and fall
That's all that blond haired, golden eyed boys
ever do to her.