Tuesday, May 12, 2009 at 12:28AM
is held,
its voice gone
long nothing--numb
its cry,
senses
absent,
it only
stares.
when your orphan
stares at me,
I am afraid
I've killed you,
and pick you up
again, feeling prayers and hope
that you will be not harmed by me.
though neither orphans, you nor i,
we live in papers stacked
for processing.
the birthdays are plump,
the holidays are good,
most dinners are enough,
but the orphanage and
our terrible neglect
has ruptured.