Malnutritioned Heart

To the many hurting children I know, love, dream about, and long to see again in Honduras.
El Día Del Niño, 2013.

I’d rustle you up a hot plate of the food you love

that fills you up to bursting

if you would just come over for a bit.

I’d print you a hundred photos of how wonderful the world is

enough to spend all afternoon examining

if you would stop tearing them up.

I would treat all the wounds on your small sinewed body

with gentleness and comforting laughter

if you would pull up your sleeve and point to where it hurts.

If you would whisper to me your nightmares

without lying about how your sun rose

I would whisper to you how beautiful the moon was in your window.

Dear one, child with a malnutritioned heart,

I tell you about love and forgiveness at every chance I get

and you pfff and pshh, not quite at me, but at the thought

of being pardoned,

of being full.

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