I don’t have a poem this morning.  All week long, I have been writing, waiting for inspiration, an idea that I can hone and soar with. Usually, if I am open, it comes.  But this week, there has been a stone in my heart.

When my daughters were babies, like any parent, I could not rest if they were upset. Every bone in my body just wanted to comfort them, make them feel better.  It is biological. It is about survival- that connection between parent and child.  Now, as I read about the immigrant children separated from their parents, I feel that old familiar tug. How in the world could we have done something so horrific, so cruel, so unnecessary?

In my mind, it doesn’t matter whether the children are in “cages” or “detention centers” or whatever we want to call them. They are not with the person who hears their unique cry and is compelled biologically to comfort them. We don’t need to argue about why they crossed the border illegally. We know why- to save their children’s lives.  We need to stop arguing, face the shame and sinfulness of what we have done and do whatever it takes to reunite these children with their parents. My suggestion is to donate to an organization that is willing to do the legal footwork required because that is what it is going to take.

How can I write a lovely poem with all of this screaming in my mind? My mother-heart is broken.