You can’t count on nature spirits to find
babies wrapped in old sheets, by the side
of the road and under the trees,  gasping for their first breaths
not quite alive, simply abandoned. You can’t count

on fox-headed women, sylphs with cow tails
to be there to find babies left behind
in rest station bathrooms on lonely country roads
to come just in time to stop those tiny cries

to save those tiny fingers twitching in lines of ash
left by cigarettes burning out on wet tile.

Holly Day

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Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press),  In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press).

Artwork: Stephen Mackey, Stepmother with Scissors
Website: http://www.stephenmackey.com/

31 Jan This entry was published on January 31, 2019 at 12:01 am and is filed under 34 (January 2019), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.