She cuddles it, laying the great head gently, like a giant egg, on her tortured breasts;
Her eyes, tender and soft, remains on its face; it stares back through black beady eyes,
The only part of it that still has spark of life in them.
His elongated forehead hangs like a dark cliff over his vision;
His spine cannot support his head, his family cannot support him.
‘He’s got water in his head,’ the doctor says, ’he needs an operation.’
‘He’s got evil in his head,’ the neighbours say; ‘he needs to be thrown away!’
‘We can’t stand the sight!’, some relatives say, ‘euthanasia would ease our shame!’
He can’t stand and none but her can stand him;
Her eyes reach out to the parts of him her hands and voice can’t;
‘You’re my child and I love you!’
His toothless mouth drops open, and his eyes takes over his dumb tongue:
‘I know, Mum, and I love you too!’