Day 205

I spend the afternoon with Ruby, four months old,
whose parents were my students.  Her small hands
have learned to find her mouth; her eyes, brown-rimmed
blue, scan the room, meet my eyes, focus
on them.  She is learning to be in the world, learning
face, arms, blanket, toy.  Outside
shafts of sunlight break through the oaks, we can hear
birdsong behind the sound of cars moving, trains.
I am thinking of a woman in Gaza holding her infant
to her empty breast, not knowing what else she can feed her.
I am thinking of the baby saved from the womb of her mother who died.
In the sun-filled livingroom, Ruby’s father
gives Ruby to me to hold.  She laughs — laughs! and I remember
Bobby Sands, Irish revolutionary, who said 
We will defeat them with the laughter of our children.