The Hungry Season

It is likely that she kisses
the papery skin of her child’s fontanelle,
stretches her fingertips above
his belly, begs his ribcage
and thin arms, where inky flesh greys.

There is a slow tearing, an acceptance
of parting. An unbearable surrender
she does not resist.

She may ask her child’s forgiveness;
she understands the burden
of motherhood.

This is the curve of her story.

There is a moment
she recognizes.

It is not yet mid-morning
and even now the sand burns.

She buries her child
in the ground wrapped
in a shroud. She plants
his bones, so close
to dust already.

She does not say goodbye,
does not turn back for one last look.
Clouds of sand rise as she walks

the long dirt road of the hungry season.

Published in Poemata, Volume 23, Number 2, 2008.
From "Theory of Illumination" a chapbook of poetry by Valerie Poulin.