Jackie asked me
why the fly was dead.
I told him it was lost.
Is it sleeping Papa? he asked.
It’s sleeping Jackie, I said,
waiting for its Mama.
Why did it get lost? Jackie asked.
It went too far away, I replied,
and there was nothing to eat.
And it died Papa? Jackie exclaimed.
Yes, Jackie, it died.
Will its Mommy find it? he asked.
If we let it stay where it is,
its Mommy may find it, I said.
He looked at the fly sadly.
Poor little fly, he said,
putting it in his palm.
Your Mommy is coming.
I reassured him she would.
Is it empathy?
Is it sympathy?
The concern for the small,
the love for a life.
Jackie lives
among the lives around him.
Their lives live in his own.
Jackie shows Papa.
Are we lost?
Have we died?
Do we wander away
too far?
Will Mommy find us?
A child knows.