"Infant"
it says,
"Aged 25 days".
Or more so,
"INFANT",
because in your death
you were powerful.
Kicking red-faced and wrinkled.
Fresh as white sheets I had
hung out, collecting in the
worldly smells.
Wrapping your little feet
was hardest, the toes which did
not know dancing.
I wanted to go with you,
wherever you had gone,
bald and afraid.
I could tell, because everyone
is frightened of the dark.
"Infant" I couldn't christen
with a name, you were born
half here, mostly elsewhere-
fighting to hold the gods' hands.
Blue with holding your breath.
I covered your face,
bathed you and sang
shanties- shouted at God.
INFANT
aged 25 days,
stricken with homesickness.
[based upon a little grave marker labeled only "INFANT", aged 25 days.]
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