Poetry

Part of the Story

They pulled her out of a bank,

Or what was left of a bank,

Six days, hand pinned,

Fingers broken.

I know the story a reporter tells.

His accent places him:

BBC or Sky TV.

He becomes part of the story,

Pointing his microphone into a hole,

Talking to a woman he cannot see.

Yet.

We know her name, Janette 

(her husband did not give up–

He came to the bank and waited

Watched and called her name).

How does the heart know?

This world is small.

Firemen from LA, 

reporter from Britain,

TV doctors 

and former President

Converge on Port-au-Prince

Hoping for life.

And there was life abundantly.

After the cries of pain

For the hand released,

After, she sang,

Janette sang,

"Do not be afraid of death."

The world is smaller tonight. 

I am less afraid of death

And sadder at my distance

From the faraway close by.

*******************************************************************************************

Bill Neely reported this story, one of many in my heart today.

6 thoughts on “Part of the Story”

  1. so beautiful. I listened to that NPR story in my kitchen yesterday, and sat right down on the floor to cry afterward.

  2. I missed the story on NPR…thank you for sharing it. One of many similar stories I imagine…of love and hope.

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