Wrap my face in the cradle of cotton
And caress my cheek.
Care for me like the tall child
That has grown into this body.
My tears are nothing but stains
Against ash. Softly, now, hum
That song my lover cooed
In the silhouettes of charred drapes.
Lay me down in this crib
I’m tired of being played with.
Do not speak.
Do not cry.
I’ve let these strangers hold me
In place of my mother’s hands.