Dead Babies – by Doug D’Elia

From a distance it looks as if
she is carrying a sack of rice,
but it’s a dead baby

she’ll place at our feet
with sad eyes, and
a ghost of a chance.

As if our magic, our special medicine
could heal its napalm burnt,
shrapnel infested body.

As if we can bring her baby
back for an encore smile or
one last lunge at a beating breast.

As if some Christian missionary
had told her of Lazarus risen,
shaking off both dirt and death.

As if we could pull-off
that kind of miracle,
we can’t.

As if seeing her
approach we could murmur
anything other than

Oh, Christ!
We can’t. I wish we could.
Jesus, I pray we could.

4 Comments

  1. Steven Woodall

    a masterpiece, in my mind. exquisitely rendered.

    Reply
    1. richardjheby (Post author)

      Thank you Steven! I’m sure Doug will appreciate hearing that.

      Reply
  2. ted jean

    straight stuff, Doug. Bravo

    Reply
  3. Ricky

    Stay with this guys, you’re heniplg a lot of people.

    Reply

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