Littlest One by Mary Ball

Littlest One, where did you go?

I carried you in my womb for such a brief time.

Were you topsy-turvey turning,

then one day your heart stopped?

Was your tiny body struggling,

then finally still?

I know so little of your science.

I loved you, Littlest One.

I close my eyes and see your tiny rounded head,

delicate like the soft down of a bird's chest.

Your eyes smaller than apple seeds.

I see tiny veins running through a hand smaller than a pebble.

The hand closes, but not on my finger.

No, never. I lost you.

Who has you?

My aunt had a dream:

My father, 15 years dead, was smoothed-skinned and bright in Heaven.

He held a wee girl and told my aunt he was babysitting my baby.

I choose to trust the One who died to set us free from death.

Goodbye, Littlest One. Goodbye--

for now.