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.