When I was a girl
I saw a mother carry her baby
bundled under bare arms
cold from the autumn rain
she steps under the neon sign.
The smell of sesame oil
heavy in the air
an old man pushes his cart
and grins
as if he knows how the story ends.
I once believed
everything was true
that angels sang from heaven
and dust
fell
from the black
sky.
A daughterless country
lost inside the 38th parallel
And I wondered whose side I’m on
Last night I had a dream
a mother was riding her bike
across a dirt field
her daughter holding
on to long black hair
slick from the warm heat
the mother hears a distant cry
like so many times before
ancestors
calling her home.
Parenthood Pending 