He looked like an Auschwitz victim.
Like a tiny helpless baby bird.
I wanted to cradle him in my arms,
But fed him ice chips instead.
It’s what he preferred.
He looked into my eyes
Just moments before he died.
Lying there naked, as he had come into the world,
In the presence, of his little red-haired girl.
A woman-child thinking,
“This is not my idea of a happy ending.”
Copyright Suzanne Norton 2015