Day 551

Mira

She is standing now.  She
is beginning to walk on her own.  She’s
talking as clearly as she did 
before the bullet
lodged in her brain, this
four-year-old child shot
by a quad copter that aimed
right at her.  She’s walking
toward the doctor
who pulled her back into life
when she’d been triaged out.
The doctor who saw her react to pain
and thought, This one
might be possible to save.
So she was ferried back
into her mother’s arms, her tent,
into the air of this world, because
she still had the capacity
to feel pain. Because a doctor
believed she could save her.
Because she was strong and had
something in her that could
withstand, that could try
over and over and not
give up. (She opened her eyes,
she began to breathe.) All
she had learned
before, she’s relearning.
She stares into the astonished
tear-filled eyes
of the doctor
who saved her, and what
she says to her isn’t quite
thank you, but Look!
I painted my nails.