Her body slouched because it could not yell
The limping carried toward the chair, helplessly stretched limbless
and then the wailing focused in her throat
when her eyes fell on her son, the box,
finely finished, firmly closed
Finely frozen is her voice that only breaks
in laments, as dreams of cries for help.
The sun dies, tomorrow will become yesterday.
And those fallen eyes gloss over
more distant than emptiness...
Like the shout from her bloated body, its heavy water
the wind-knocked-out-of-lungs-and-space-around-me kind of feeling
becomes bitter.bitterer. And the punched-gut breaks
into internal bleeding that is leaking
into her lacuna womb.
Like empty lungs that barely sigh, both left
with nothing, no expression
the betrayal of sour tears doing nothing
but crawling to hide on her tongue.
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