Thirty One. Female.
A month old infant sucks at her breast,
The wound of his removal lining her abdomen.
The blouse not hiding her swollen liver
Pressing through the much washed fabric.
A hepatitidy her malady.
Spread, untreatable,
Mere months to live.
The gun aimed at her silent;
The barrel spanning her life;
The shot now emerging
Spattered though her lung like duckshot.
Two more mouths await her at home-
Her belly bears the scars of their birth.
But no husband to share the burden;
No breadwinner, no bread.
The only treatment
Words and paindullers,
An aspirin for a gaping wound;
A social worker and some forms.
Where will you go,
O What will you do?
Bereft infant, O Motherless son,
Who shall shine on you?
What can I say?
What can I promise?
Only a God who watches,
Hears her wails and my cries,
And weeps,
For a Kingdom coming.
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