Monday, October 19, 2009

Поврежденные дети*

My ovaries tug
when we watch the Russian documentary
and how I'd love to take them all
scoop them up,
see that their stories not end
in the dark corner of a ward
Or the milk-sour sheets of a barred crib.

These children need light

light, and love
(and I have so much love to give)

But my arms cannot stretch across the ocean.
They are too far,
and cannot be comforted.

Reality is a bitter pill, twice-swallowed.

*The Damaged Children