Jacky had a tiny voice,
a voice
like a whistle.

But she carried
Julian
like she was holding
goodness
and those tiny arms
had veins
in anacondas.

"There's my little man,
my little soldier,
my little hope."

Julian
giggled in twinkling spoons
and vivid joy,
the joy of a mattress
of Jackie's love.

Jackie wore like
a thousand wraps,
applebottoms
and chucks
clinging
to the
soles.

But she loved
Julian
and took him in her arms
when he screamed.

With that tiny voice
she sang
and made ice sculptures
out of the cold blocks
of his hunger.