Cling to her skirts, a
child, a small thing, frail
fearful, not yet alone

But burdened mother be,
casts the kid against the stones
and she
falls and breaks her teeth

Grasp tight her hand, a
palm, tiny fingers, scared
shaken, not yet collapsed

But haggard mother be,
tosses the child to the wind
and she
snapped her wrists and bled the veins

Silver in the artery, slice into the
injured sky and it weeps like flesh that bleeds

Shipwrecked in the harbor, sink into
unsafe wood and
rupture like a vessel in the
body and the sea