Legacy

A child pulled from her mother's arms and placed into a cage. How could a person seeing this not feel enormous rage? Instead, the mother, full of fear and shocked with disbelief, thought what she said or how she looked had brought about this grief. Was it because her clothes were torn, her shoes had come apart? She had been walking miles and miles in search of a fresh start. Was it because her skin was brown, her face was stained with tears? Was it because she looked too old for twenty-seven years? Would she hold her child again, kiss her as she slept? Would she see her timid smile, caress her when she wept? Or, would she miss those childhood years not meet her until she'd grown? Then, would the child think her Mama was someone never known. How can this be happening? Where is our country's heart? Why aren't more of us standing up? Instead, we stand apart. The mother sits with others who are old beyond their years. She bears her grief in silence now, her legacy is tears.