Wynne Morrison

A mother lies awake with her child
bombs whine overhead
Shots echo in the street

A mother sits with her child in her lap
Coca-cola in the baby bottle
During the long wait in Emergency

A mother tucks her child into bed
decides which bills she can pay
And turns off the television news

A mother holds her child in the street
cuddling him to her for warmth
Considering who will take them in this night

A mother carries her child on her back
through desert and orchards
She has learned not to cry

A mother paces by her child’s bed
grasping at every breath
Waiting for morning to come