Which used to be a kind of Lent
When the little one kicks in the womb
Turning toward the entrance
To the world jostled
On the back of an ass
When will we ever get there
To find nothing welcoming
But Aloe blooming on the roadsides
An empty stomach and an emptier
Heart waiting to be filled
All the other infants killed
And Aloe flowers red and yellow
As if spotted with blood
Sunlight falling on the mud
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