A Poem For Scared Children Who Have No Voice
I am tired today
I’m tired
of sleep one night
not the next
of so much fear haunting my bones
it wakes me long before the grey dawn
Will I have enough—
time
sleep
care
for my self
the small one who
is sometimes afraid
to go to sleep
and wants a story?
Will I have enough bedtime
stories for her?
And what about the child
ripped from her mother
at the border?
Does my voice matter to her?
Does me taking the
exquisite time
to let the small one
inside me
believe that her voice matters
matter to the child
at the border
in tears, afraid?
I want to believe it does.
That as I do not forget
the small one inside me
who feels forgotten
some part of the girl
I only see in a photo
on the screen
with black hair
and a red shirt
knows
she is not forgotten
It’s like prayer
travelling across miles
to reach the one I love
having surgery
in another country
It’s been proven
to work.
If I am writing
for the lost children
inside me
How can I not be writing
for the lost children
crying for their mothers
at the border?
Repetitive, yes
I am saying the same thing
over and over
So it sinks down
to the deepest layer of my
existence
Beyond the mind
with its fears and doubts
Beyond the body
with its weary aches
Down to the layer of oneness
the Soul
which we all share
Each of us on this blue planet
Unified in one soul
We belong
to one heart
Yes one heart
At the level of heart
I am not separate from
the child at the border
she is not separate
from me
I hold her
in my heart today
along with others
whose pictures I haven’t seen
and I hold the child in me
who is still afraid
to go to sleep
sometimes, not always
who is still afraid
to write the truth
sometimes, not always
It’s the patience
for sometimes
that my heart
asks of me
So all the lost children
all the broken off parts of me
all the shattered, scattered
fragments
of the One Soul
who don’t have
a safe home in the world
They all come home
in my poem
Yes—come, come
the door is open
This poem is as large
as my heart
which is infinite
as is yours
As powerful as prayer
or steel
as strong as an oak tree
a thousand years old
Yes, you are welcome
in my infinitely strong heart
the scared child of my own inner life
the scared child at the border
The ones who have no voice
who seek a voice
who need a voice
Whose voice is everything
we need to hear
to heal our world
That child
That voice
is what lives
in my poem today
