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Infant

The crown of her head
is a wire      disjointed      brush.

She grips the frightened infant
in a crooked grip
- her hands clutching like claws.

The 4 liquid eyes stare hugely.

Mother & child
(Peering      questioning      wondering)
DESPERATELY HOPING . . .

Note

There's neither fear of the intruder nor hatred in the mother's eyes. She guesses some kind of violent disaster lies ahead of them. The safety of the child is obviously more than her life to her.