Day 627

If you could take these children
back into your body, feed them
there as they were fed
when they were safe
and hidden in your womb;
if you could take them, their bird-legs,
their twig-arms, their bellies
bloated and stiff, back into the softness
of your flesh; if you could keep them
there, nourish them, shelter them
from everything that would
wound them; if you 
could let them grow there,
thrive there, take 
silent asylum; if they
could wait there and grow
instead of wasting — one
after the other — from hunger…
If they could go back
into your body 
instead of being laid now
in the hard ground, their
bodies like leaves, like feathers,
so weightless you ask yourself
if they ever cried, smiled
at you, walked this earth, spoke words?