world of war

Rinsing a dish
in the sink
where the sunlight streams in

How does the world still turn?

My baby says “Mama”
and I smile
and cry
to think of the mamas whose babies will die

For no good reason, only they
got caught in the crossfire between power plays

Strawberry juice down my three-year-old’s chin
and ribbons of shadow
because the sun shines

Why here?
Why do we
get to live untouched and wild and free

When a world away and yet in our backyard
families hide
or are taken
torn apart

And what should I do, besides rinse a dish
and wipe a face
and smile
and cry

Because of the babies whose mamas will die