You say there is no Heaven.
Fly with me now across the world
to a breast in one country,
as long as the people are starving.
It does not matter where.
A desiccated breast. Sere.
Clinging, an infant, boy or girl?
Doesn’t matter.
Sucking scarce milk from a drying teat,
soon to die, like its siblings, like its mother.
Doesn’t matter.
You say there is no Heaven.
You say there is no justice.
The universe just happened by accident,
just appeared, exploding into beautiful
us.
Outcomes just came out.
Fly back with me back to our country,
to a crib in the suburbs.
See my niece, dressed in pink,
a silver spoon in her mouth.
She will live to a ripe old age,
have a beau, have a baby,
maybe more for the nanny.
Boys or girls, doesn’t matter.
A plump, full breast or Silk milk.
You say: Too bad, too bad!.It’s just too bad!
That’s just the way the cookie crumbles in the milk.
I don’t think about the future, Heaven.
Doesn’t matter. I can’t think about those other babies.
Hand me a fresh diaper. Hurry, I have to go.
Meeting my hubby at the restaurant.
Hurry.
Originally published in Heart of Flesh