My Little Jo

“I’m sorry,” I say, to deaf ears, to cold decay. Claws I thought had withered instead came back to rip the silk of your being— now only shreds.

Bunny socks turned scarlet red, your mama’s arms coiled around your head; not even the panoply of the most ancient bond could save you, my little Jo.

May the sun be warmer, the sky brighter, kinder, kinder than I ever was. May you only know love, where your screams are laughter, your tears only joy.

My little Joseph, I shouldn’t have come back. “I’m sorry,” I say as I cradle your head.