Notes on an Execution

by Danya Kukafka

There would have been 6,552 babies. Over a span of eighteen years, 6,552 hearts would have beat unconscious, cocooned in the blank swim of their mothers’ wombs. 204 of those babies would have been born blue, then slapped awake. 81 would have died. But 6,471 infants would have taken their first gasps of oxygen as they slid from echoing caves—they’d have stretched their thrashing limbs into Jenny’s waiting hands. Jenny would have been a blur. Their eyes, still so new, would not have been able to track her face. But 6,471 newborns would have felt the soothing capability of Jenny’s gloved palms, the humility of her fingertips as she checked their vitals, wiped them clean. They’d have heard Jenny’s voice, rumbling the same words every time she passed them into their mothers’ sticky arms. Welcome, little one, Jenny would have whispered into each precious seashell ear. You’ll see. It’s good here.