Wrapped in newspaper and plastic
In an old shoebox.
Your body was so soft yet so cold;
Your tiny fingers and tiny toes
Washed clean by what streaming warmth my tears could bring.
Your face, as fair and innocent like the dawn of that day,
Held so little memory of sharing the air that I breathed
As I held you close.
With trembling hands and agony in my chest
I tore away that little package that bound you,
Revealing the naked truth behind your mortal death.
I shared with you my blood;
I shared with you your pain,
And the yuletide season may never feel the same.
Please forgive me for not being there
For her, for you
Before she took your life away.
You left on Christmas day,
Wrapped in my shawl, with all my love,
Carefully placed in a small abaca-woven box.
I let you go on Christmas day,
Buried you in garden soil in an old icebox
Dug by my fingers, watered by the tears from my eyes.
And all I could give you was a name.
photo from http://www.soulprintsphotography.com/images/index_04.jpg
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