Still Beauty
Annie lies so still, curved
into her mother's side.
Blissful picture of maternal
love frozen in time. Two
delicate rose-marbled finger
tips slipped betwixt soft pursed
lips. Displaying gentle sloping
carving of a smooth mouth.
Never havin' chanced to breathe
soft crying. She was an amethyst
embodiment; precious metamorphosis.
Her mother's most horrendous nightmare.
--Anne Arca