December 08

TV Tragedy

Their dark-eyed, desolate brown faces
stayed with me for days; the documentary
was about the Catholic church’s view
of contraception and abortion –
no matter what the circumstances.

I was cocooned safe in my home –
my luxurious, spacious, peaceful home,
while I watched this family
of five or six children, all under 8 years old
live out their days in a two-metre by two-metre crate,
right next to a busy railway track.

Around them were hundreds of blank faces,
(all the men were out at work)
bodies crouched in small, dark spaces
too low and too narrow for an adult
to stand or stretch out in sleep.

“Beauty is my child’s face.”*

Is there a more perfect sight than the face of a beloved child? Is there a more perfect feeling than stroking the softness of their skin? Is there a more perfect smell than inhaling their sweet scent as you envelope them in a tight embrace? These are some of the intoxicating wonders of motherhood. How I love to dwell on my child’s exquisite features, but no matter how long or how intently I gaze, the image is always changing. It is the nature of childhood.

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