There is no infant
this time,
only my own life swaddled
in bandages
[5]
and handed back to me
to hold in my two arms
like any new thing,
to hold to my bruised breasts
and promise
[10]
to cherish.
The smell of cut
flowers encloses this room,
insistent as anesthetic.
It is spring.
[15]
Outside the hospital window
the first leaves have opened
their shiny blades,
and a dozen new accidents
turn over in their sleep,
[20]
waiting to happen.




Please explain how she feeling and how this affected her view of the future