Mother and Child

Inspired by the movie Hotel Rwanda

I’ve watched you sleeping for a while,

Memorizing the curve of your crooked smile.

Faded teardrops grace the corners of your cheeks,

Infinitely weary, the shadows pull across your eyes.

Between my shallow breaths I cradle your broken weight.

We ran together, you pushed me forward.

Forcing me to accept promises that I couldn’t comprehend:

“Do not look back if you no longer hear my voice.”

Five steps ahead and fingers intertwined, we ran alongside gunfire.

Genocide.

Lies.

Fear.

Oppression.

Neighbors and friends

Who once grilled steaks on Saturdays

And shared beers on Sundays

Now aim AK47s and 9 millimeters at the fathers and sons, mothers and daughters

Of diverse faiths, identities, cultures and religions.

Voices tremble, denying their Gods.

“Hold back your gun, I will convert!”

Words emptied from my mouth, exhaustion filled my throat

As I fled from the boys I once played baseball with.

My faith may have misled me; my identity forever forgotten.

My culture demolished; my religion betraying its people.

Yet my innocence had not yet been tarnished.

Although deafened by gunfire and blinded from death,

I continued leading the path to freedom.

Fear trembled against your eyes, tears traced the contours of your chin.

Gunfire so close to my ears silenced my breath. But it was not me who met the ground.

Your silence, a single shot, helped break my promise.

I turned around, and you’re no longer five steps behind me.

Now in my arms. Your blood follows us.

My strength can only go so far.

I’ll never forget your broken gaze.

Like your unconditional warmth before mine

I hold you against my heart.

My eyes dare not close,

Fearing you will no longer be with me should I wake from sleep.

Can you hear my four words?

Four simple syllables, I could not even utter while we ran.

Would it have been different if I said them before my broken promise?

A wound deepens into my heart.

Pain more severe than death.

I deny the truth I must silently accept.

My voice will reach you, but your response will never reassure my quivering voice.

“I love you, Mom.”