Mrs. Edward Pritchard, pregnant, had a
busy day. At eight she
rose, dressed
carefully,
and gave her man
away. She gave
him at the court
house, flies bumping
on the walls, and while
she said the words, she thought
she didn't care at all.
Leaving there, she
fell: at twelve, she lost
their son--who never used
his eyes, who never
tried the air, but only
lay with small lapped hands
and feet that went nowhere.
At six she woke up in a
bed and touched a
nurse's hand: don't
leave me, were the words
she said. Don't worry, I won't
cry. But I must ask some human
being--why? Why?