To Remember

a mother and her grief over her lost baby.

She wanted to remember
her baby as she was.

Not the last image
of paleness and cold flesh

and the white scrawl
wrapped loosely

about her.
She wanted to remember

the first time she held her,
the tiny fingers

and toes,
and the eyes bright

like small stars.
She wanted to hold

onto the pictures
of the baby

in her head,
the ones that captured

the first smile,
the first suck

on dug,
the first wrap

of tiny fingers
around her own

motherly thumb.
All that was left now

was the silent
grief-filled hum.