They nestle closer to me,
Their frantic hearts beating on my shoulders
As they turn away from the strange man with the camera.
He tells me to look at him but I turn away.
There is a cruel world out there,
And I intend for it to be seen.
Not as a dark fairy tale that doesn't exist,
But for what it is.
I am a mother.
My children live in this nightmare.
I pray to wake up.
They cling to me with rough hands.
Not like those of a young child, but of a man who has worked hard all his life.
These are my childrens' hands. Why?
My children huddle closer,
Afraid and confused.
Why must life be this way?
The detail of the children's hands is unforgettable.
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