Baby shoes, worn occasionally

You were a handful of oats

Dripping with honey

In the starving fingers

Of a man frightened by tourists 

Your first step was the adjulation

Of Christmas get-togethers

Where the video was passed round

The groaning dining room table.

The uncles clapped his back, 

The aunts cooed and planned

Little hockey jersey onelets

To chase away snowflakes

Your grandmother was aflame

With jealousy and love,

As you grabbed her pinky

Like a life saving ring in the ocean.

Your mother cried when you coughed

And sang "La Vie En Rose"

As she washed your hair in the little sink, swirling with soap and dust and mud 

Your father found the dead cells sticking 

Like tree sap frozen in hexagonal puzzle pieces

To the roof of your mouth.

The red film of spittle blended wonderfully with the green embroidered mittens on your tiny, seizing hands 

One year to the day since you were brought home,

The parents realized that dreams are something

Which at the coming of dawn, must end.

So, too, in that moment,

 did they say to you, 

that though you slept alone, 

Soon will they sleep with you. 

They each kissed your bargain bought tombstone

And raised a glass of rancor, bile, and hemlock, 

and whispered quietly in the air 

You are sleeping. 

Please don't wake up.