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.