Friday, May 25, 2012


Their pictures are on milk cartons
and pasted on toll-way booths.
They appear briefly with advertising fliers

for carpet and upholstery cleaning:
these mug shots of missing children,
small line-ups stalled in their short,

photographic histories.
Maybe we have seen this child before
on his way to school or in a grocery store

clutched by the wrong hand,
locked in a large grip,
or crying on some park bench

with not-so-childlike bruises
far from home.
What should we make of their absences now,

of their parents held in an escrow of death,
the earth hiding some of them
beneath its skin?


1 comment:

  1. I was reading the news about Etan this morning and saw an interview with his father last night. I cried when I saw his father tear up with fresh thirty year old heartache. Thank you for expressing my feelings so poignantly in your poem. I want to protect all the children in the world....I wish that I could......