Orphanage

The scent of warm soup greets us
as we enter his home,
while pots and pans clamor somewhere
down the hallway.
It must be dinnertime.
We hesitate before following our guide,
wiping our wet shoes on the door mat,
carefully stepping on the old creaky floors,
seeing the gray walls, cracking,
sighing from the burden of
abandoned children's cries.

The guide points the way past
the tall windows that line the hallway,
their panes of glass showing evident signs of greasy spots near the
sill -
probably from children's
curious fingers and upturned noses
pressed faithfully against them.
I picture the children standing there each day,
looking outside, catching glimpses of
the people coming and going,
hoping, wondering, if one of those people
will just happen to be "mommy".

Our son doesn't know we're coming for him,
he is still too young.
He doesn't know that we flew several hours
and spent endless nights talking about him.
That we bought him clothes and toys,
and that he would have his own room.
That we cherished him even before he was born.

With anticipation we walk upstairs
into the large room reserved for guests.
We watch in fascination as two little girls,
still toddlers, stand there, staring openly at us with their pale
angelic faces.
They call us "mommy" in pathetic voices,
in search for an answering smile.
We smile back, sadness engulfing us,
for we could not answer back.
A woman joyously steps forward, kneeling
down, hugging them,
claiming them as her own.
Her joy becomes ours.

We wait and wait for signs of him.
Maybe he is ill and cannot come,
maybe he is sleeping,
maybe.....
"There he is!"
We arise, full of anticipation, our
hearts racing, our hands trembling,
watching the nurse carry him into the room.
We just know it is him.

He wimpers as he is carried to us,
bundled in a white blanket,
even his small head is covered with a
a white linen cloth, so he won't see,
won't fear the unknown.
We've been told he's a curious one.
The nurse hands him to us, smiling,
her cooing words soothing our anxiety.

He is so tiny, my heart skips a beat as I clasp him to me, my arms
embracing him, warming his thin little body with my body.
And the little fellow bursts into tears,
wailing his little heart out,
his tiny arms flailing,
his red scrunched up face becoming
one big open mouth screaming for security,
crying for love, for the love he never had,
for a mother's touch,
and her soothing words
to put him to sleep each night.

I continue to hold him close to my aching breast,
murmuring words of endearment, of love,
tears flowing down to meet his.
"You won't be alone anymore,
God sent us to you,
He chose us for you and you for us.
Don't cry, shhhh, please don't cry,
for you're going to be in good hands,
you're finally coming home with us."