Yellow Star Child
September 1944
Onto the cloth sling
spread out
on the kitchen table
Elena
lays her sleeping daughter,
now nearly five.
She slides dark pants and coat
over slack limbs, then hides
the curls and fists
under cap and mittens knitted
from the same yellow-flecked
blue yarn that matches
her own sweater.
I offer a necklace,
gold cross dangling,
and she fastens it
around the unresisting neck.
The face is beautiful in repose.
Brows as fine as sunrise. Lashes
so thick they cast shadows.
Tomáš presses into my hand
a handkerchief
knotted on one end
with coins. Safe passage
for their only child.
Together, we lift the ends
of the sling
and secure it across my back,
small girl rested
on my chest.
The night air is chill; moon
obscured by clouds.
A thin sound attaches itself
to me as I walk away.