There is a boy named after you. Your
nephew, my brother. And our
grandfather who has passed now, suggested naming
him after you. When you were homed in
the belly of your mother, the only world you had, did you
know that it was set to end? Did you kick in warning?
This will end as fast as it began and in slow thoughts I have
wondered who my father would have become if you had
been alive.
And maybe there would have been no war and no invasion.
Your momentous delivery would have sent ripples through time
and announce to God that I am here, and there is
no need for death. Destruction isn’t necessary. The midwife
held your limp body, croaking a prayer, sending you back
through time in a basket. Did you announce to God,
I am here.