death of a…
Looking at my baby
trustworthy
sucking my breast
feeding in my warmth
this shining child
this God
growing
dictating my days and nights
knowing I will be there
doing, breathing unison
Whose the greatness
is there
such a thing?
Grinning
determined now
baby
cannot be
I push her face
against my soft brim
not a sound
Die
there can only be me
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Sometimes a poet would like to explain (I do) what a particular poem means, but I won’t spoil it for you. And don’t be scared, I’m no human baby killer.
