there is a child in me
severed in half
a body blasted open by a fracturing slug to the chest
also a mother
someday to be
who will fear to do anything other than hold her daughter close
who will wonder if birth is irresponsible
if there will be no welcome for the fragile innocence of childhood
there is a sister
still learning to do justice by the name
not equipped with the thickness of skin to stop crying long enough to understand why this happened
her hands unable to lay still
searching for the soft skin of her younger siblings
the ones she knows are 6000 miles south west of these blasting bullets
of the shattering glass of winters quest promise
and yet
she will watch every minute of footage
every fucking second
searching for the eyes of a 9 year old girl
who reminds you of home - of a child she once held close to her chest
she will wonder if this is the penance you will constantly have to pay for allowing her heart to love
and beneath all of this...
there is a woman
i am trying to be
trying to hold all these pieces together
long enough to write it out
to gather all the shattered bits close enough to see an image
close enough to make sense of it all
but no
there is no sense
just a child, a mother, a sister and me
reading the news
watching the line of children skatter
watching their eyes turn dark
knowing they will never be the same
like i will never be the same
that something was stolen today
from us all
