In this cave, dusty and hot but sheltered, we
made it bombs exploding, running fast.
My arms wrap tight and squeeze, shaking
and frightened more than you sweet babe.
Little one I will not show you my hurt foot.
It’s there as I smell the familiar red puddle.
My sleeve is wet but there is no pain.
This garment absorbs your escaping fears.
Whomever finds us my hopes run far and high.
It will be the good men to take us home.
Maybe brother made it, sigh, mom and dad, too.
Though they lay still as we ran, lead lungs.
I will keep you sister close by me evermore.
No bad men with pointed guns shall find us.
Steal I must the dead man’s gun and shoot
whomever deems us harm or fateful ills.
I promise this to you as I feel the warmth of
your breath, your beating heart next to me, I see.
I see what I must do and be, your guardian,
your angel here on earth; your need is my plight!
by Caroline Clemens