The Baby Rodent

You fought so hard to live. Small as a human’s thumb, you existed in miniature: a soft-haired creature with tightly shut eyes and legs and arms held forward, paper-thin. With your head turned up between my fingers and a giant syringe at your mouth, you told me with two arms waving, your head thrown back, stretching, “No, that is not right”. Your hair-thin lips closed adamantly as an upturned V. The V opened reluctantly to a small black triangle with two slivers that were your bottom teeth. Your body slept curled on its side, turning with jumps in slumber, sometimes with a squeak. Then it was calm and softly breathing. I would check for your breaths. They were always there.