of
buildings tumbled
and
houses crushed to rubble,
the
sisters embrace.
and
delicate fingers intertwine.
The
ribbons in their hair,
tied
by the nimble but trembling hands
of
an aunt or a grandmother,
the
white and pink dresses
flowing
from their vulnerability,
these
remnants of innocence will soon fall away,
overpowered
by the rare strength
and
the raw hunger for survival
pulsing
in their faces.
Orphaned
by an earthquake,
childhood
has vanished
for
the surviving children of Chiapas, Oaxaca, and Mexico City,
and
the last flicker of purity
has
been extinguished from their eyes.
Yet
what remains is sacred.
After
the pain has jolted through them,
their
tenderest feelings have risen to the surface.
Horror
has penetrated to the core of their lives,
but
at eleven or ten or nine, they are too young
for
tragedy to shatter their souls to bits.
They
stand like trees splintered by lightning.
Love
can heal them,
and
life can make them strong again.
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