2/15/23
I smell my child’s hair,
kissing her cheek while she sleeps,
and wonder about the newly
fatherless,
motherless.
This morning
as I comb out her tangles
I wonder who will gently wash
the concrete dust from
their hair, remind them
where they come from,
reassure them they are loved?
Will someone
inhale their scent as they
lie sleeping,
or lovingly, patiently,
tell them a story
of their lives before
the crack of earth?
Step closer. 