There is a baby
in the hospital labelled
Unknown 99
like some odd, uninteresting gift
relegated to the nameless list,
but I will call you
Little Miracle
and dare to think about
the who it is
you might become
when time transports you
to a place of
cradling light,
where displaced names
have lost their anonymity,
where the moon can chase
the stars in limpid skies,
and where silence sheds
its longing into sleep
like melted snow.
I see you there,
war’s Little Miracle,
your belly full again,
your heart the beating presence
of a nation’s grief.
This poem was first published in the Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Read the original piece.
