Mother
She stopped the breath of the child she had known.
He was blinded by birth and of suffering form.
His flesh was her flesh, and his bone was her bone.
In a prenatal sleep, fever and methadone
From his mother’s own body rendered him harm.
She stopped the breath of the child she had known.
He was Heaven’s dilemma, this baby this gnome.
His belly was full, his cheeks were quite warm.
His flesh was her flesh, and his bone was her bone.
She took back a life that would wrongly have grown.
In the quiet of sleep that was eye to the storm,
She stopped the breath of the child she had known.
She sweetened the pillow with talc and cologne,
Pressed gently the face in the crook of her arm.
His flesh was her flesh, and his bone was her bone.
She covered his body with one sheet alone,
Waited for tears that she wanted to form.
She stopped the breath of the child she had known;
His flesh was her fleh, and his bone was her bone.