fractured wrist
cracked rib or two
deeply wounded soul

a father
broken in life
breaks his child

a debate as to
how it happened
they say

fists flying
for a mother lost
child gets in the way

no manner in which
to start life
a history of violence

at only six weeks old

not a moment to
experience a
baby’s bliss

and yet

lying here, somewhere
between awake and sleep
between heaven and hell

she smiles

perhaps she knows
a wisdom beyond
this world or next

a peace beyond
the suffering of the past
a place of peace in Presence

she is not able to
comfort herself, you see?
unable as babies’ should

pacifier repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly falls beside her face

attempt to comfort herself
still, she does
sucking on air

i hold the piece in place
until in peace she slips
into a tender resting space

my nephew names her ~ Cinderella
“because,” he says
“someday, she’ll be a princess.”

i hope, i pray
let us, all of us
make now that day