Originally published in "Digital Americana"
Under harsh white lights,
behind a pale surgical mask,
the doctor told the mother
her baby wouldn’t live
to see the next sunrise.
Herbert Daniel Kilkelly
weighed 1.2 pounds.
His breaths so weak
they could have been
on accident.
She cradled him on the way home,
staring out the car window
at the harvest orange pumpkins
and the bronzing October leaves.
She wondered why this town she loved
was all in black and white.
At home they wrapped him in blankets,
but he wouldn’t stop shaking.
So the father grabbed a cigar box
with peeling mustard paper
and placed his baby inside.
He opened the door
to the ashy wood stove
and placed him on a chair nearby.
In the morning his father,
asleep at the table,
was woken by hungry cries
from the warm bundle
in that cigar box.
And the mother fed him
in the amber sunrise,
and as the first leaves were falling,
Daniel opened his eyes.
Under harsh white lights,
behind a pale surgical mask,
the doctor told the mother
her baby wouldn’t live
to see the next sunrise.
Herbert Daniel Kilkelly
weighed 1.2 pounds.
His breaths so weak
they could have been
on accident.
She cradled him on the way home,
staring out the car window
at the harvest orange pumpkins
and the bronzing October leaves.
She wondered why this town she loved
was all in black and white.
At home they wrapped him in blankets,
but he wouldn’t stop shaking.
So the father grabbed a cigar box
with peeling mustard paper
and placed his baby inside.
He opened the door
to the ashy wood stove
and placed him on a chair nearby.
In the morning his father,
asleep at the table,
was woken by hungry cries
from the warm bundle
in that cigar box.
And the mother fed him
in the amber sunrise,
and as the first leaves were falling,
Daniel opened his eyes.