the motel room is unusually small and the side of the bed on which i sleep is pushed against the wall the despair which suddenly engulfs me isn’t really because of the room but it has been triggered by it and i lie awake trapped and fretful the one hundred and forty kilometre trip from the country was frightening enough for a couple of farmers the extent of my knowledge of the city was a day trip to the exhibition building for a dog show and passing through on our way to the sunshine coast we were told to come prepared to stay at least overnight in a matter of days it became necessary to find our way to various specialists’ rooms and the Royal Children’s hospital where Tony was then admitted for tests we could eat little after parting from our screaming son in an unfamiliar environment and now we lie shocked and exhausted in that small darkened room sunlight still streaming down outside my eyes are too dry to cry my throat too numb to speak for the first time that i can remember since we married we go to bed strangers not able to speak or to touch each other in some recognisable sign of goodnight
by Janice M. Bostok
Murwillumbah, New South Wales, Australia
first published in Stepping Stones, 2007
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