I was walking down
to sign some checks
at church. The rains
had paused their pouring
so I stopped on the bridge
across the creek
to watch the flow below.
A man with two
toddlers in tow
stood back as they
peered between
the slats of the bridge.
The younger one turned
to me with a smile
that expressed her joy
as if to say “look at that”.
Then she said, wawa, wawa
and my mind fell into
a cursed rhyme, Gaza, Gaza
and the image I’d seen
on the news the night before
of a toddler swathed
against the cold and shallow flood
creeping into her family’s tent.
I looked where the wee one
pointed and smiled back.
and continued on my way,
even churches have bills to pay.
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