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  • christine

No, you’re not clinical waste: Miscarriage

This poem came about as a result of reading an article about some hospitals treating foetuses as clinical waste to be disposed of. I then tried to write what this meant from one mother’s point of view.

No, you’re not clinical waste

You may be pre-term

But you were still my baby

You were still filled with

My hopes and dreams

You were still mine

For a time, growing

And living inside me

Still loved.

No, you’re not clinical waste

To be incinerated

It’s too cruel



You are still

My child

Once part of my body

Who I talked to, planned

For, mine.

No, you’re not clinical waste

How can they do that?

Throw you away

As if you were nothing

You were everything to me

I felt you move

I heard your heartbeat

You responded to my touch

I loved you

I still love you

No, you’re not clinical waste

They took you away

Before I saw you

I don’t know the colour

Of your eyes

Or your hair

I never got to count your toes

Or your fingers

All I have are memories

Of you growing inside

No, you’re not clinical waste

To be forgotten


Do they think my tears

Are worthless too?

Or that

My broken heart

Is like china

Easily mended by the glue

Of time?

I tell you

There is no glue

To ease my pain

My loss

I just

Want my baby back

To hold in my arms

To feel her breath on my face

To soothe her when she cries

To kiss her better and

Tell her I love her

Oh, I ache for

Hush little baby don’t you cry

Mammy will sing a lullaby

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