Today I Can Remember

I remember yesterday, You became human through breakfast and poem As if desired to be a transfused memory Next to where I discarded you, Unnoticed, a incomplete short story, Some lack of narrative. I remember the nurse, White coat without credentials, Red hair shampooed in stale cigarette smoke, Clutching the clipboard of your entire heritage, Found deliverance in the small print, Words specify to remove any victims. She commented on your mother’s eyes, Eyes that stole comfort from the terrible silence Locked away in a basement basinet. I remember you, delicate Wrapped in fluid before violence Wrenched through the vacuum Without the assistance to life That removes mother from mouth, A force to bring color to limbs. You ceased before your name No vigil or mourning hymn, A eulogy that never existed until today. Outside of the womb, You borrow your brother’s smile So big it forces eyes closed, A sister’s laugh promenades Echoes through empty rooms Your mother’s steady red pen signs your goodbye. I remember today, You pour from ink across Thought to paper in some act of cul-de-sac penance Frozen in my body as fear pours Concrete through bone marrow cinder blocks, I remember that today I left you at my Father’s feet, Away from white gowned cannibals Who feast on the science of little ones.