I cannot take my eyes off of him,
my six year old son
asleep in his bed,
hands crossed on his chest
in unwelcome omen.

In our big American house
he sleeps luxurious sleep,
privileged sleep,
unhaunted by nightmare,
unburdened by truth,
and I think of mothers in times
and in places unfamiliar to mine
watching their children
whose eyes have closed.

Mostly I think of an Afghan mom,
a woman who prayed for boys
to please Allah,
prayed for boys to please husband,
prayed not to bring another girl
into Taliban horror.
I think of her watching her boy,
hand touching his cheek,
powerless to protect him
from what will be coming from Others,
from people like me,
with children like mine,
with children
exactly
like hers.

~

This poem was published in the 9/11 commemorative edition of the Santa Barbara Independent, 2002.
The statue is by Charles Umlauf. http://www.umlaufsculpture.org/