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,
What can I say to excuse this,
Your tiny toes not bigger than corriander seeds,
My dogs smiling faces,
And two tiny ears,
I will lay you sweetly in the compost bin,
Cradle my tears,
And try to think less of dying.