Tiny feet,
Smaller toes than corriander seeds and
Pencil lead fragility.
Held smaller than the palm of a smaller hand,
Cradling a head with two eraser-small ears,
A touch of red rimmed round his mouth,
Weeping out, “God,  I hate Spring time.”

Where will I lay you?
We have dogs on either side,
And your body is so small,
And I’m crying.

The only place to lay you is the cradle-bin of compost,
And you’re not even the size of my hand,
Blurred, crying.

What can I say to excuse this,
Your tiny toes not bigger than corriander seeds,
My dogs smiling faces,
And two tiny ears,
Still crying?

I will lay you sweetly in the compost bin,
Cradle my tears,
And try to think less of dying.

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I am a teacher-to-be who loves people. I am not afraid of many things. I like to explain my thoughts logically on a very birds-eye view level--I was born thinking that way. I follow Jesus Christ, and I accept only that label to describe my identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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