Beautiful children, run to meet me as I step my foot on the empty clay barren playground of their school. There is no majesty to it. No swing set, jungle gym or sandbox. Just the clay and the children’s bare feet. Hands rough and dirty touch my face. Wonder fills their eyes. Sadness fills mine. If only I could promise you another day little ones, a place to play or shoes to wear. But you do not even know what you are missing. Your beautiful smiles shake the world. Your laugh is the heartbeat of the city. When asked about your favorite part of school, you say lunch; because it is the only time you eat a day.
After school, a time to play, you linger here-not wanting to leave. You know what is waiting for you in your dilapidated shack of cardboard and clay. A fathers drunken rage. Burns and scars mark your face as a permanent reminder of your young mortality. Your mother weeping in the corner as your father towers over her is your nightmare come true. What she wouldn’t do to protect you.
What can I do to give you another day? I wish I could take you home with me. All of you. When I go home I pray I will not forget your face.
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