Ambulance Poem by Tara Teeling

Falling white velvet,
vanilla eiderdown,
wafts toward the sleeping earth
all without a sound.

Hear the flakes kissing,
and watch the ice cling.
There's invisible car-hissing,
while naked tree branches sing.

Off in the distance,
beyond the horizon of coloured light,
a scream cracks the violet
of the still December night.

The moans once soft and low,
are coming close and wailing loud.
Moonlight ices the pavement
before it hides behind a cloud.

There is desperate caterwauling,
underneath the whirring lights,
and urgent electric swirling,
in candied-red and winter-white.

On this eve of spirits,
of shiny bows and sugared dreams,
the peace is interrupted
by hurried howls and high-beams.

We wonder quietly about the rider,
and strain to steal a glimpse.
The ambulance sails on the slush
while the careful car slowly limps.

Catastrophe wreathes with dark
and snuffs the shimmery glow.
The passenger’s a nameless soul,
whose face we do not know.

As the siren starts to fade,
leaving us to swim in black,
we praise the sparing silence
and pray the magic will come back.