Prayer | to pdf >>
by Philip G. Danufsky, MD

I saw her only once, and long ago.
Strange that I see her still,
Lying on the white sheet, wide-eyed.
She does not shift her head when I come in.
She seems so old, beyond her seven years,
The body wasted, cheeks sunken,
Thin skin tented, shining over bone.
Only the belly is swollen.

I write the proper forms in futile detail,
Recording ruthless progression of symptoms, of signs;
Imposing irrevocable sentences on frail,
Defenseless paper, in black, indelible lines.

Our Lord, our Father, You Who fashioned light
To teach Your children how to see,
And to bind us each to each, created night,
Why is this lost child given me?