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HANDS
Inspired by Edward Weston's "hands"
Hands pressing in,
Holding her aching belly.
Her empty womb cries out for children
Gone
Lost
Stolen
So recently born, it still hurt to breathe.
And every breath reminds her of a son
Named
Manuel,
Laughing bright-eyed angel boy
With a cloud of wavy joy encircling his head
As he crawled across the wooden floor
To investigate every day things
That were to him a constant wonder.
Every breath taken shakes her empty uterus,
Reminding her of a daughter,
Nina,
The child who was not supposed to happen.
Born three months too early,
So small she could curl up in two cupped hands,
And yet she opened her dark eyes,
Looked around
And smiled serenely,
Warmed by the knowledge that she had cheated fate.
But destiny will not be held at bay
Forever,
And in the middle of one night,
The mistress fate,
Who hears no please
Not even those of a child,
Manifested herself in the form of soldiers.
They broke into the small wood frame house
Surrounded by the lush grove of trees.
Soldiers of fate. come to collect.
Ransacking, they overturned furniture and lives,
Tracking mud on the wood floor
Where Manuel had so recently crawled.
When they realized there was nothing of value,
They threw her outside
Then set the house ablaze,
Holding her back,
So she could do nothing
Save listen to the screams of her children.
Her children
Who once filled her belly
Now fill her mind,
And her empty womb threatens to slip out of her body,
Tired of all the sadness and loneliness,
And it is all she can do
To hold it in
With her two brown strong hands.
- Walidah Imarisha
Women's International League for Peace and Freedom