Born six hours ago, already deceased.
Gone like that, taken to heaven.
“Domenick,” belonging to god, how appropriate.
I was knocked unconscious, blood loss.
First thing I heard when aware:
“Complications, lack of oxygen, premature delivery.”
Tiny baby, just over two pounds.
Miniature fingers, perfect in my mind.
Small casket, custom ordered, name engraved.
Little recollection of the surrounding supporters.
Big funeral, twenty-three car procession.
Huge gaping hole, never the same.
My memories lie in stories retold.
Desperate to hear his first breath.
Oddly wishing I heard his last.
Motionless baby lies in my arms.
Only picture, Mommy and lifeless son.
Six years later, still salted wound.