The Deposition


I swear to tell
The truth
So help me God...

The falling pitch of the monitor beep
Her cold damp skin
“I can’t breathe”

The smell of sickness
Her father’s eyes
A quiet prayer

No pulse for desperate fingers
Meds lines tubes against
The unforgiving clock

10 minutes, 20
35 minutes
I make the call.

At home I scrub it all away
Before I hold my baby

But this is not what they ask.

I have no independent recollection
Beyond the medical record.