The little people

It’s almost as natural, it seems, as death
that comes like a thief in the night
carrying away everything they call their own:
there isn’t much they can do anyway.
So believing, they wait at the hospital lobby –
spreading out the corrugated carton for bed –
with their diseased children, waiting, waiting, waiting
for kind strangers & antiseptic doctors
to take a look at them –
bones & all –
so the family can be whole again.
The half-smile is permanently pasted on their faces,
timidly hiding the ancestral pain,
as if it’s sheer arrogance to invest on it,
& praying, praying, praying – O Holy Mother of God –
that they, the little people, would be thrown their way
some morsels of attention, given drugs
or whatever…
Really, they don’t want to bother anyone,
they are worthless, just living off small mercies –
& the small dreams of their hardscrabble life
should not soil the majesty of the bigger picture’s…
They will go back to where they come from
because such is life, the only life they know
& have known,  wishing never to impose on anyone –
even God should not notice they exist.

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One Response to The little people

  1. saespinosa says:

    i haven’t smiled for quite some time. this one made me, gladly. thanks.

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