The Vacuum

She sucked the joy out of the room in a vacuum.
There were words, soft on smooth flowing water
that I
didn't say
that I thought, mimed, signed
but didn't say
because, by saying them, it made them truths
and truths are more God-fearing,
than a moments thought,
and I am not
a God-fearing soul.
I would certainly not be caught on my knees in an extravagant room, built when there was more poverty than giving, begging for favours -
anyone, even a believer, must remember the pony they never received or the man who never loved them again because life
doesn't work in wishes. Instead I am going to utter these words, to you,

in the quiets of the underground.

A chance, one chance in ninety six, has marred my mind like paint stains on a white table cloth
because I am a worrier as much as warrior
and strength only comes when you see your opponent and know, strong or weak, what you're dealing with.
I'm carrying a vulnerable creature, precious to me, more precious than I had thought at the beginning, more intimidating, more interesting -
and the Doctors have advised I go for a test called an Amnio',
but it comes with a risk of the little thing leaving, before it should, an equal risk to my one in ninety six.
They say I should do it, do something, in case it's at its worst
but I think, the child deserves more than my fear,
my strength despite my blindness,
my loyalty despite any faults,
my love consistently.
I don't want to go for the Amnio, especially when many, many times these screens are wrong -
but I am not a begging woman, you won't catch me in the pews of a church asking for help,
you won't catch me crying with worry late at night,
you won't catch me fearing for the future, not now.