Day 456

The journalist’s wife is in labor
while he must go
to report on yet another atrocity,
and before he can see his newborn son,
he and his colleagues are killed.
The child comes into the world
and his father leaves.  Did they
salute one another in the doorway,
moving in different directions?
The mother lies in her hospital bed,
cradling her infant, who 
has no father.  For now
he is warm enough, dry enough.
For now he is strong, whole.
Who knows when or whether
they will be driven
out of the hospital?  Who knows
what the conditions will be
when they get to their tent?  For now
the infant is alive, the mother
numbed with grief but healthy.
Who will protect them now
from cold?  From rain and wind?
She pulls her son even closer to her body,
as though she could shelter him there
(as she did all these months)
until the bombing stops.