connections: a poem written 'in the spirit of Whitman'.

a shade, half-drawn,

over smudged, dirty glass; a window

spilling dusty golden light

into an empty room;

a child emerges, sleepy-eyed,

confusion swimming in her tiny face

and bringing forth the only question

that one so young can ask:

“what happened?”

an ambulance:

parked helter-skelter on a block of cement

that has played host to endless childhood games

and now stands as a witness

to a mother’s final breath.

a trio, three brothers:

grouped around a tiny, sniffling girl

like a barricade:

a wall that won’t be breached;

four children: motherless, abandoned, broken—

but if they are together, they are whole.