The Sick Child Grown

Madison McLaughlin

(Ekphrasis of Edvard Munch’s “The Sick Child,”1907)

clammy skin that plunges like a knife into my own
i shiver as she grasps onto me the anchor that tethers her to this world

eyes glazed over hazy in a fever-like trance
the unshakable woman who birthed me has regressed

she calls for her own mother the frigid scent of death filling the room with each plead
her mother has been reduced to ashes. and can no longer mend her broken heart

a heart that beats for the past rather than the present
one that has roots buried far beneath the earth’s crust returned with her creator long ago

looking into those sapphire eyes i promise to continue searching for those roots
even after she has left me behind just as she promised she one day would

but even now as she stares into my soul i no longer see my mother
instead a child looks back at me screaming for help left behind by the world

blankets and robes swallow her hollowed frame one that used to be full of joy

full of life

her skin a sickly gray i know our time is short
god i miss you already but for now i muffle silent screams just to hold your hand

Madison McLaughlin is a senior attending Eastern Illinois University, and will be graduating after student teaching in the Fall 2024 semester. She majors in Secondary English Language Arts, and is also obtaining a minor in Creative Writing as well, primarily focusing on poetry and creative nonfiction. After graduating, she hopes to continue teaching while simultaneously furthering her education in English.