Abbigail Caldwell Was Primed For Death Before Her First Tooth Fell And

Tea leaves remind me of Abbi.
Little lungs bobbing in our river, the Tankey.

Air bubbles, protective parents, push

Her back to an arch, head still down to stare at lush

Golden brown algae, gray gator gar, mercury coated minnow – all swayed

By whorling eddies, moved along this lazy river back’s way.

She dragged both feet through two miles of mud.

Past the Mills, shoe laces move along and scud

Down the bank, till deep, one crag snatched her.

First one foot. Then the other.
Hung there crucified, hair out like fingers,

Catching dead leaves, scum and silt between

Suspended, decaying hair.

And she stayed there.

Till the rescue snorkeler found her milk-eyed stare,

Arms wide, dress moving in wet breeze, little pinky nibbled bare.

Pulled her tiny water-logged corpse up, up-and then

Let mother’s bewildered mourning finally begin.

“Found her half-eaten, finally, poor soul-“

Neighbors words give less comfort than their soggy casseroles.