Milly mourned her child.
Milly grieved
Through the long nights
And tedious days.
She knew the feel
Of baby’s touch
On breast and chin,
Knew the smell
That baby’s have
Of milk and sick,
Knew the sense of loss
As a crown of thorns,
The nails of a crucifixion
In her heart and head.
She remembered the sight
Of her baby dead.
Remembered the screaming voice
Just like her own,
Echoing down the corridors
Of her splintered mind.
Milly mourned
Her babe in arms.
Milly wanted the feel
And touch again,
Wanted the suck
Of lips on teats,
Wanted the baby’s finger
Upon her cheek and brow,
Wanted her baby back,
Some when some how.
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