(A poem for the amazing mothers pumping milk for sick or premature babies)
A photo sits beside me, a machine plugged in.
The whirr of suction motors, tissues in the bin.
Milk drips into plastic, ounce after precious ounce.
Arms longing for my baby, to kiss and hold and bounce.
Wall clocks tick-tock and cold pumps hum low.
Through endless NICU days and nights painfully slow.
A voice within me whispers, ‘keep going, don’t you stop’.
I’m pumping for my baby and there’s love in every drop.