Youngest Sister
I bathed that little bud before it turned to breast.
Shoemaker's children of love, we two,
you took what nurturing I had to give
as though your due. Who knew
the day would come that breast would turn to foe,
an exercise in nightmare wrapped across your chest?I chased away your nightmares when we two
were children of a foe made placable at nightmare cost.
Infusions of no lesser love may save you now,
consulting demons, seeking something lost.
Copyright © 1999 Miryam Ehrlich Williamson. All rights reserved.