the child / who won’t be alive tomorrow
the child / taking refuge in a hospital
with three brothers / one sister / and a mother who says /
come on / we have to go /
but there is nowhere to go / and from half
a world / away / I watch war / in slow motion /
blows to the skin / a purple crown / water and
blood / women clutching spice jars / blood and water /
the barren fear of men—
once / I watched as he was born / made sure his name /
was spelled correctly / on the birth certificate / I took him
to the pediatrician / after three days / it was like a dance /
divine choreography / I / a childless woman / loved him /
and his mother / and his brothers / and his sister /
these children / whose births we thought / would save
us all—
we / elders / live with our mistakes / and we
look to the newly born / as if their first smiles / could send
bombs soaring upwards / as if the way / they clutch
our fingers / could raise the dead / and as November leaves
fall / in deciduous silence / as snow dusts the ground / and millions
prepare / as they do each year / to rejoice in the birth / of the
refugee / child / they believe / redeems the world—
and I / am one of them /
I bow my head / and pray for newness / as I watch
in slow motion / the fleeing women / the shells
of buildings bombed / I pray for cold light
to make shimmer / this ashen spiderweb / that covers
the land / but where is he / the child who may
or may not be alive tomorrow / did he make it
across the border / I don’t know / I wish
I knew / but then / maybe not knowing
is the very / hope / I hold
This poem also appears in the October 2024 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 89, No. 10, page 8). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.
