River Crossing


It took 9 months
(and then 8 hours)
for him to meet her.
He had never before seen anything so beautiful.
He had no words
because were no words.
He took that baby
and tucked her into his arm,
because he now understood that miracles are real.
 
 
It took one second
(and not one more)
for him to know.
He had never loved anything so much.
He felt for a moment
that his heart might actually burst
as he took that baby
and tucked her into bed,
because he now understood that a love like this was possible.
 
 
It took two years
(and a lot of worry)
for him to decide.
He had never been more afraid.
He had no food
and she was hungry.
So he took that baby
and tucked her into his wife’s rebozo,
because he understood that he had no choice.
 
 
It took three border crossings
(and months of walking)
for him to get there.
He had never been so hot
and she was crying.
So he took that baby
and tucked her into the darkness,
where there would be fewer people to hear her.
 
 
It took one river
(and one torrential rainstorm)
to make it so dangerous.
He had never been so close
and he wanted her to thrive.
So he took that baby
and tucked her into his shirt
because he was afraid the water might wash her away. 
 
 
It took one picture
(and one click of your mouse)
to make their death so public.
Because you wanted to do something
or at least tell yourself you had.
And then you took their story
and tucked it somewhere in the back of your mind
because you wanted to grab a second cup of coffee
before your child woke up
and you had to start your day.




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