The Parting Veil

They dressed me in a blue hospital gown,

Too big for a three-year-old—I thought I would drown.

The clinking of instruments, them beeping around,

Made my bile rise; I wanted to block that sound.

"Scalpel, blade, and stitches," they said,

Fear, fright, and petrified, they led.

They snatched me from my mother’s arms;

I felt stabbed, disturbing my calm.

Why did I feel it was the last time

I snuggled in her bosom, warm and kind?

They put me to slumber with a needle fine,

Assuring me that soon I’d be fine.

Yet I still felt pain as they tore me apart,

And took away my faulty heart.

They strived hard but couldn’t hold on—

I had moved to the medium beyond.

As I floated above, frantically searching around,

I saw my mother, yet my arms were bound.

I cried and shouted; none could hear,

They pulled me down into a well near.

Horrid screeches drowned me in stillness,

My three-year-old soul cried, relentless.

This poem is about my little sister, who passed away when she was just three years old.I’ve always imagined the fear and confusion she must have felt, separated from family and faced with the strange, cold reality of the hospital. I’ll never forget her tiny, brave spirit, her innocence, and how helpless I felt, unable to reach her or hold her close. This poem is my way of keeping her memory alive—a tribute to her life and the unbreakable bond we’ll always share.