Little Boy Blue.

There must have been the white of the soft cellular blanket. There must have been the crimson red of my blood. But I only remember the blue.

We knew that we were having a little boy. We painted all the nursery walls in a Dulux colour called ‘Blue Babe’, it was perfect. We filled up drawers in giddy anticipation, buying vests, sleepsuits, tiny striped socks and woolly hats.

He was blue when he was born, the cord had wrapped around his neck, and his lips were dark and bruised. Silence.

Giant waves crashed around my head and I felt seasick as I covered my ears to block out the piercing scream. It was me. It was my scream.

We buried him under a calm blue sky, we said goodbye and gave him a blue teddy bear.

Its winter now but the blues remain, though sometimes they are grey and darker still.

Blue; when a torrent of tears strips away the outer layer of numb.