A father,
standing in darkness,
can hear his child,
produce
a cry of cold
a wail of hunger
or a bronchitic wheeze,
from miles away.
Biologic sounds
which are etched
in permanence,
deep within the cortex
and tattooed upon
the reptilian stem
for eternity.
So now
halfway across the world
standing in the medical wards
speaking broken Kiswahili
I hear her --
a cry,
a scream,
a gutteral cacophony
of pain.
My blood recoils
as a previously senescent
reflex arc
now activated -
springs
into action.
My feet
must find this child
must understand
who
what
can cause
such a sound.
Yet, as I am compelled
to seek and find,
I am horrified -
at the sight
the shear agony
tearing a place,
a new home
in my memory.
Action
becomes reaction
with feet again
racing
towards an elixir
an antidote
to this agony
to my anger and horror.
