He
sat in the alleyway
oblivious
to the smell,
familiar,
to the filth,
familiar,
to the open sewer
flowing
in the center
of
the stones, familiar,
to
the cries of children,
familiar,
the dogs full
of
sores and mange
chasing
the rats
familiar,
the cockroaches
crawling
over whatever
was
in their way, familiar,
his
legs. He sensed
the
presence kneeling
next
to him, unfamiliar,
the
hand offering a burrito,
unfamiliar,
a bottle of water
fresh,
unfamiliar, the light,
unfamiliar,
the sun rising,
unfamiliar,
the light softening
the
lines and creases
of
his ten-year-old face.
You will go to Babylon
there you will be rescued.
Photograph: The Micah Project, Honduras.
