I long to console my grandmother after
the death of her child, three-month-old
Lena, how swifly she goes from suckling
to choking, gasping, her fingers & face
blue
Grandma’s futile breasts ache
she doesn’t speak, the five children
sit where they’ve been told to sit
while Aunt Emily wraps the body
Grandpa says, “There, there,” to anyone
listening
no sooner the child buried
he comes to Grandma in the night
“No, no” she whispers, but nothing
she can say or do stops him, his
rights prevail, eight more times she
births his child
never again cares
the rift too wide, her world undone
mothering over, she pales away
older children raise the littler ones