Day 272

(from a photograph)

The child’s small bare feet
stick out of the blue towel
his father has wrapped him in
to bring him to the hospital.
Bloodstains on the towel where
the child’s head and stomach are:
but the feet are whole:  perfect toes,
brown pants ending just at the ankles.
The father’s head is thrown back
in anguish.  He holds his child.
A doctor has his hands 
on the father’s shoulders,
but there is no comfort, nothing
to staunch this pain.
And I have no words for this
except what I’ve
described here.  Gone
the child’s hunger.  Gone
the child’s fear.  Gone
his voice, his laughter.
Gone the look on his face
as he fell asleep.  Gone 
the sound of his walking,
the warm tight grasp 
of his little fingers.