Tiny hands, tiny eyes, tiny hearts
June 24, 2019
Drying tears with the dripping trees outside
I think of small hands holding each other
While voices cry out for love and family.
Tiny eyes look out at chain links,
Cold floors their only beds
And hearts that ache for holding,
For the warm arms of their families.
Do they know they are loved at all?
Do they know that they matter?
Do they feel like they are nothing,
To be thrown around like toys
In a big political game that is
So much larger than them.
They know nothing of borders.
One bit of earth is like another
But there is that invisible line
That when they cross it
The arms they are held in,
The hands they hold,
Are taken from them
And then what awaits them
Uncaring hands and cold chain link cages.
Not enough food to eat,
Not enough water to drink,
Not enough clothes to wear
And a mylar blanket is the only bit
Of warmth they feel.
Tiny hands.
Tiny eyes.
Tiny hearts.
They close up like small flowers,
Like a bird with head tucked under its wings.
The fear so big it overwhelms them.
The tears drying on their shirts
As new tears take their place.
Do they know anyone cares at all?
Heather Rose
