Lullaby for a Stillborn Child
She rocks the baby in her arms,
Pillaret of salt, lips of balm,
Its fragile, evanescent weight
Shores up her sanity and calm.
If longing could defibrillate
Its brittle heart, or aspirate
Those vacant lungs, so would it wail
A piercing, joyous keen. Too late.
The window light begins to fail
Over her charge, so small, so frail.
Too soon they will return to sweep
This desolation from her grail.
Her lullaby meanders, deep
Against the night’s unyielding keep:
Sleep little baby, baby sleep,
Sleep little baby, baby sleep.