Benediction

In this place
the small hospital shimmers against the Sierra Madres.
In this place
the people have skin the colour of the earth,
Nightsky hair.

In the cool hallway, a mother carries her child.
He is wearing white satin,
gold crosses stitched on the front, the back:
baby Jesus clothes.

Nuzzling his mother's neck, the boy hides,
his shock of blond hair skunking
against her long dark braid

The small mother steps up to the white-coated guide,
hands over a folded piece of paper
plucked from between her breasts.

Figure.

She is not sure where to go.

She hoists the drowsy boy against her shoulder,
his pink mouth slightly open.
The guide shows her the line of sea blue
trailing along the wall

to mark the way.

He lays his hand briefly on the head of the sleeping boy.

Benediction.

The mother turns and walks into the shadows,
the rich white satin on her baby catching dapples
of stray sunlight.

“Did you notice the blond in his hair?”
It means he is hungry.
Hungry to his very bones.