Lost child (work in progress)

Childhood in dreams

is a home of love’s abundance

Pinata full and burst

Fresh tortillas and chicken hot leftover

Chewy pink candies under bubbling

Grins and dancing feet

We knew no childhood

You and I

We were little once

We were weak and human together

I remember you. I saw you. I loved you

Bastard orphan twins with blonde

Hair and blue eyes

Wearing each one sandal

Hand in hand, naked starved

Smiling and speaking, Spanish

For each other’s hope, for my hope

Each time I hoped for god or love

I hoped for your smiles

dead children or living children

I have carried you for a life time

Meek and powerless children

I’ve sacrificed soul in exchange

For mercy, for you

The least of us

To know home

To know freedom

To know justice

To know love

But no one answers

No one takes the trade

No one looks up

I try to grab them and shake them

Slap them awake but my hands go through them like shadow wind

My voice doesn’t reach help

or power’s mule ears

God has died with you, childhood

Inside me, his corpse festers and wets

into yours. I am the burial ground

of hope or love. I am sand or dirt


I see their little laughy smiles

Their dark eyes and dark skin

Shiny and beautiful black hair

They come to me in the soup line

They ask for hugs or food or aqua

They beg for a mother

They cry for a Padre

They call me auntie

they call me Crackhead’s daughter

They call me missionary’s bastard

They call for me

They call for me

They call for me

Anita, Anita, they cry

But I can’t find them

I look in government’s buildings

But they are barred and guards

Stand with guns and badges. The windows boarded and doors locked

I pound on the door

I pound on the door

No one comes to answer

I pound the invisible line

I call out matching numbers

I search the scrub and desert

With water and GPS

I find little bits of white bone, rifle cartridges and lizard men who

Have no heaven or shame

In forgien made pickup trucks

Protecting sand forgetting

Self or right or familia

They are running

They are running

Until they are all run down

they come to me in my nightmares

They call me war machine

They call me fat white pig

The call me Jesus’ fast

They call me Maria’s burden

But I cannot not find them

in light of day

In the darkness of night

thick smoke hides

Are those the flickering eyes

Or fire flies

In the tent cities

In the dirt streets

In the slaver’s workhouse

In prison cell

I search but no one seems

To see or hear or touch or know

Lost child

Lost childhood

I am searching

I am calling out

Mr., sir, lady of the scale

Give back the empathy

Give back the humanity

Please, lady liberty

Da los bebes


Author: annieepoetry

I am poet. I am woman. I write with my thumbs. Read my poems. Tell me what You think. You may find the love poem you always thought someone wrote for you. Or the one you meant to write But Becareful lovers tell zingers and often break hearts Milky Way Earth U.S.A Madison WI

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