at night

the whistling of the wind

through the leaves of the old maple tree

at the heart of the park

sounds just like a baby

sighing in his sleep

if I was

even slightly superstitious

you might even say the sighing

of the wind through the park at night

sounds just

like the last

dying gasps of

the baby they found abandoned

under the tree

last summer

stroller filled so high

with autumn leaves

Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, The Hong Kong Review, and Appalachian Journal. She currently teaches at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, the Richard Hugo House in Washington, and WriterHouse in Virginia.