Untitled

the baby's hands—
small enough to reach
     through death
and bring
     an old woman's face
back to me.

So small he was
as the woman's body
     spread
thickness and sickness
     in a hospital room.

Life comes to the child
     —he didn't ask for this.
Life left the mother
     —I didn't ask for that.

The babe squirms and pulls
and the old woman
     won't move.
He absorbs the grief
     of a lifetime
and helps me say
Goodbye, Grandmother.
Your newness has
     passed on.