THE ORPHANAGE ON CHERRY ROAD
That big house was built in the seventeen century when the faith in God was strong,
it told many stories of men with bruised hands and chiseled faces;
they built it with craft and embellished it with stained-glass windows;
girls in their pretty black dresses looked outside and contemplated sunsets for long.
I bumped into a frail woman leaning on a cane, she stared at it with much emotion
and sobbing, " Their youth is wasted, They are the orphans rejected by society! "
" Why is it so? " I asker her puzzled." They should be adapted by somebody
and get out of there before they are too old! " Her voice expressed a great concern.
And looking in those tearfull eyes I answered her, " I must disagree! "
" Do you want them to be entrusted to strangers who won't love them as
their parents? " Parents! They have none! They are the daughters of drug addicts! "
She raised her voice which showed anger while she rubbed her injured knee.
" Madam, why are you crying? Does someone dear to you live there? I questioned
her improvising the answer. " My granddaughter ! My poor granddaughter! "
I continued the conversation " Is it a detention home? She solemnly replied
wiping her flowing tears with a soft tissue, " It's an orphanage! It's real hell for her! "
The friendly woman told me a story a few people knew: the story of that forgotten
orphanage where newborn were taken in by nuns who did it for love, not for gain;
" On Cherry Road, this house is looked down as a scourge! Sins of their mothers!
Why don't they go to visit them, hug them and give them Christmas presents? "
Copyright © Andrew Crisci