It's something like my earliest memory.

He holds her hand tightly as they walk up the corridor,
His grasp appears to comfort her, and though she is oblivious, it is probably him who needs comforting.
He doesn’t need consoling for a bad reason, merely the emotions are running high.

The walls are very white, and the people surrounding match, their faces and hands the only glimpses of colour and life escaping their long white coats.
Some of the people are like her and like him, normal people going places too.
She doesn’t know where they are going, despite him explaining it repetitively.

Yesterday had been unusual, when she spent the day with others,
Of course they treated her well, but he had arrived home late.
Though earlier today they had slept and played like usual,
It was just tonight that things were extraordinary again.

He knows where they were going, so she just follows,
The corridor seems never ending, though it twists and turns.
Somehow she knows that they are nearly there, but maybe that is just a thought.
But soon they arrive and are welcomed, where she is held tightly by another in a chair.

After encouragement, she makes her way over to another part of the room.
The dim light contrasts the corridor, though there is a lamp that creates reflections.
The smooth coloured foil of the eggs are like fairy lights, shining throughout the room.
She finds one on top of a ledge, and then discovers the source of such rewards.

The shiny eggs are scattered around the cradle, as small and still, the baby sleeps.
Though clearly hesitant, she carefully picks up her findings.
She had been told of what she would find, but she still doesn’t quite understand,
It just makes some more sense of the unusual days.

She is persuaded to spend some time with the little thing, though her attention is distracted.
The lamp, close to the floor, is creating strong bold shadows across the wall.
The girl moves closer, smiling and laughing as she watches her silhouette,
She is at ease, and seems unfazed by the circumstances.

Calling her name, he takes her into the bathroom.
The warm water covers her body as she looks up at the fish on the curtain,
The smell of the soap fills the air as she sits contently in the bath, her hair dripping down her back.
When he pulls back the fish curtains, she can see past the door into the room, where the others are.

Wrapped in a towel, she sits near the lamp, the warmth drying her figure.
She is clothed and kissed, then allowed to see the baby once more.
It is still the same- peaceful, undisturbed and pure.
She doesn’t yet know it, but has warmed to it already.

The evening grows late and they return home again, though she is asleep along the way.
As she is carried inside, she is blissfully unaware of the coming tomorrow,
She is blissfully unaware of the never-ending corridor again, of the visits across to the gardens, of her mother’s recovery and of their trip home together as a family.
She is blissfully unaware, though after tomorrow, she won’t forget.

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Writers note//
My younger sister was born at Easter when I was 2 years & 3 months old.