Day 596

This baby is two weeks old
and growing smaller, as though
she could almost fit back
into the narrow
uncomplicated space
she emerged from, the space
where thirst and hunger
didn’t exist.  Where fear
didn’t exist.  Every day
she loses a little 
of the body she came 
with, and her mother
has little milk to feed her.
The older children
bring their mother what food
they can find.  A neighbor
offers what she has.  The baby
gives all her strength
to crying for more, and the mother
cries because there is
no more.  How long
do they have?  My children
are dying a little each day,
the mother says
to no one, to herself.
To the menacing sky.