violet

someone rings
your doorbell
and you look out,
there is no one
there. but before
you close the door
you notice a baby
in a cardboard box
with a pink blanket
wrapped around her.
you figure it's a girl
because of the pink,
but you're not being
judgemental.
you look down both
sides of the street
but see no one. it's
cold, so you take the
baby in. you put the
box on the dining
room table. she
stares at you with
pale blue eyes.
she is pink like
a cone of cotton
candy and her
face is fat. she
has no teeth. the
hair on her head
is wispy and light,
like cornsilk. she
is beautiful.
she stares at you,
as you stare back.
you decide to call
the baby violet.
you've always liked
that name for a
girl. and you begin
to question the
baby. where are
you from, violet,
where are your
parents,
who put you on
the porch. but the
baby is speechless,
that will come later
much later. there
will be a time
when she is grown
and you won't be
able to stop her
from talking, but
for now, she's quiet.
and you wonder if you
can keep this baby,
if maybe you could
raise her. she
could take care of
you when you are
old and feeble, when
you really need
someone to watch
over you and love
you and hold your
hand when it's time
to die. your love
for this baby is
suddenly overwhelming,
but then she begins
to cry. you aren't
prepared for this.
she seems hungry,
she's twisting
around in the box.
the box is wet.
her face is pinched
with tears.
the fingers on her
tiny hands are
clenched tightly
into a fist,
turning white.
you realize then,
that no, you can't
keep this baby.
you call the police.
there's a baby
here, you say, her
name is violet.