…But What of the Children?

Once, as they slept, we wondered
what lovelies would fill their lives,
what fairy tales awaited them.
We quieted our unthinkable
thoughts of too young to die
named them as other parents’ stories.

Now, our shared omissions have tossed
grenades of grief into the laps
of mothers, whose minds remember
the smell of their children
years after the last goodbye.

Our blasts and bullets send
empty fathers to basements
and deserted buildings to drink
away aborted family memories
amid the rubble of revenge.

Poverty. Pandemic. Hatred. War.

See how we have stolen love
from tender hearts, clutched hands.
Feel the torn fabric of the future
ripped from young shoulders
exposing deep bruises of confusion.

Questioned, we ask–
What guilt do I own?

When have I withheld peace
or created scenes of violence
that wake children in the siren-night
like a brutal intruder,
their fear sharp as a knife?

Why am I the one to assure kids
that there is goodness ahead,
that hope as a worthy prayer?
Why must I be the one to sing
new lullabies with happy endings?

by Anne McCrady

NEWSLINKS: Al Jazeera, The Guardian, Unicef, CNN

AUDIOLINK: SoundCloud