Adios, Madre

Your face on a magazine published before I was born The other pages torn to make paper boats and spitballs But the page you live on is as fresh as it was decades ago As if someone was afraid to touch it for the fear of desecrating something sacred Or perhaps to keep from looking at you As we all look away from the dying. Your pitch black eyes reach across space and time and grab my heart and shake it. You have my attention; What do you want to say to me? Do you want me to save you? Up to your neck in dirty water and volcanic ash Trapped in the debris of the only life you ever knew Standing on the bodies of those who cared about you Who laid there so your head would be above water So that you could live as they couldn't. Millions tried to help Million cried and Millions more prayed So that you may live. Failed by all those who should have looked out for you And for the village And for all of humanity. No, your eyes are not asking anything of me. They are not anxious or pleading They are not even scared. Your face is relaxed Peaceful and graceful. You face death with a grace I have yet been able to show in life, Even though I am twice your age Because you're frozen in time. I've learned more from this picture Than from scriptures or science. A picture is worth a thousand words But there are no words to describe the death of a child. So, I won't even try. Note: The title should read "Adiós, madre." Unfortunately, I cannot add accent marks to titles on this website.