by m. e. roach
dusty feet, small and large
so much noise
inside my belly something gnaws, gnaws, gnaws
a great black monster
my sister’s eyes are even larger-
my mother and father have no time-
and I don’t know why,
why this is my world
“Dabchick”- my mother calls me
but I am not like the little bird
If I were, I would fly, fly fly high away
and carry my family
to a place where there are no black monsters
no scurrying feet
no one pushing me aside.
Days drag by.
The little bird bows her head
And then it comes-
the letter that makes her mother straighten her back-
the help that lifts her father’s shoulders-
the light for her sister’s eyes-
a whisper of a Man who saves.
Inside her tiny chest, there is a flutter-
a flutter like tiny wings.