i will be born in one week
to a frowned forehead of a woman
and a man whose fingers will itch
to enter me. she will crochet 
a dress for me of silver 
and he will carry me in it.
they will do for each other 
all that they can
but it will not be enough.
none of us know that we will not
smile again for years,
that she will not live long.
in one week i will emerge face first 
into their temporary joy.