Have you ever looked
so closely at a child’s face
that you could see God?
Victoria Chang, Obit
what if I told you
that I am wandering
in the wasteland
of a war-torn country,
desperate to defend
my young daughter?
or what if I told you
that my daughter is
the war-torn country,
and this is America,
this is America and
we are in a hospital
room for those who
want to be protected
from themselves?
and what if in order to
keep the war-torn country
on the map I have to
convince you
it needs saving?
maybe where we are,
the name of the country,
which war,
whose daughter,
--doesn’t matter.
listen to the long gone
and the newly dead,
their elegy
is short and sweet
and pleads with us
in every language:
save her
save her
is that a clock ticking
in the corner
or is it a bomb?
you should know
that a mother determined
to keep her child alive
can turn anything
into a weapon:
a clock,
a daisy,
a prayer,
herself.
what if I told you
that my suffering child
is the Messiah?
that unless she
survives
in this world, unless she makes it,
you
will never be safe
from me?
Image by Artur Aldyrkhanov
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