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FOR ISATU KAIGBO
I don't want to stare
yet I can't turn away,
this child, this dark pearl,
her hands are missing,
her arm is gone.
Suffering hand delivered
by The New York Times.
Isatu lies in and out of water,
staring into the surf's
vanishing edge.
Her best friend Sarai
smiles alongside her,
their skins are
illumined from within,
water soaked wounds
transcribe mutilation's
masculine memory.
Rebels deny this machete madness
but Isatu remembers
the sharp blades of their cowardice.
She knows her hacked fingers
have fed hate's moist decay -
sinew, tendon, bone -
rotting in a place called
Freetown.
For you Isatu we must find a way
to return your stolen flesh and blood,
to empty our still attached hands
of loathing and revenge,
to replenish the prospects
and prosthetics of the Doctors
who work Without Borders,
to drive away your screams,
to help you bear the stares
and knives of strangers.
- Karen Lewis