Ask Not…

by William Morgan

Plaster of Paris, milk, vanilla.

Whisk.

Cruel, deadly. Hardens in the intestine after ingesting.

“I know, you’re strong, brave, stubborn.But,is your baby ? Will she survive? Do you love her? Are you capable of love? Tell me, how do I kill the queen?”

Its eyes blazed. Silence.

I pushed the nipple toward the baby’s lips.

“Tell me! I’m not playin’, I will do it. My son means everything to me. Everything.”

Fear, doubt, hate, love, a kaleidoscope of emotions in its eyes.

Still silence.

My soul shattered when It whispered “I love you”  as I fed her the bottle.

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