Weakling.

As weak as a suckling pigling
primed for the spit,
pried from a breast, trailing to teat,
limp now in the mind and heart,
days lost, frail and deficient;
queer tears, pains, mammalian silences—

dear runt, spotted, speckled and puny,
now, snuffling by, glowing to trot,
basking in spun, golden
dawn-glare.