Sophie Syncope
suffocated

her sixth child,
placed the pink pillow

over the small head,
held it there, against

the struggling for breath,
until still, until dead.

Sophie waited, listened,
held her breath,

watched for movement.
None came; she removed

the pillow, stood holding
it by her side. The sixth

child lay closed eyed,
opened mouthed, small

hands in tight fists.
Sophie dropped pillow,

put child’s hands crossed
one over the other. Dead child,

crucified mother. Pushed
mouth closed, moved head

upright, steadied. She placed
her palms on the child’s cheeks,

felt smooth skin, knew
the stilled cancer within.

Cut short
the suffering,

snuffed out
the cancer’s route,

released her child’s spirit
to boot.