I listened to this story on NPR while making supper last night. It’s about a Chinese couple waiting while excavators dig out the building where their 2-year-old was staying with his grandparents. I wanted to somehow recognize their story, out there beyond the self-indulgent bubble of my blog with its books and ideas.
Frantic voices in another tongue
break the stillness of my kitchen.
They wait
for what is lost
to be found.
Long days, they wait –
propping one another up –
tossing the unraveling spool of hope back and forth
a gossamer thread
stitching them together.
The lost are found.
The child,
cradled in the arms of a grandfather,
his last vision the face of a grandmother
standing behind
steadying hands resting on Grandfather’s shoulders.
“Mommy is here” she moans into the rubble –
Another language, but an anguish that pierces me
stitching me to them
here in my kitchen half a world away.
Lost.
Found.
Lost.
6 responses so far ↓
Ruth // May 15, 2008 at 6:42 pm
I listened to a piece about a middle school being excavated and the parents identifying their children.
No words.
Thanks for this.
Paula Weston // May 16, 2008 at 8:13 am
Beautifully expressed.
debd // May 16, 2008 at 8:44 pm
Such sadness. I think what makes me doubly sad about the earthquake is; for most of these parents this is their only child and because of forced sterilization…well.. I just cannot imagine the depth of despair.
Its a beautiful poem, thanks for sharing.
writer2b // May 17, 2008 at 12:07 pm
I hadn’t thought of it in that light, Deb. “Doubly sad” is right.
jeane // May 18, 2008 at 1:43 pm
That is terribly, terribly sad. I have been unable to listen to/watch news on this because it makes me cry.
Ruth // July 2, 2008 at 9:53 pm
I just listened to this story this morning for the first time. It was on the podcast “Driveway Moments.” Heartbreaking. The detail of her son asking her not to leave just destroyed me.
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