My mind stalls,
A faulty engine in the hot sun
Words that once fell as easy as summer rain
Now dry and useless dirt,
Words that once described the beauty of the mountains,
The open, trusting arms of the children—
No, they are not enough!
Honduras, I once told you my arms would always be open for you,
Yet I am reaching,
And you are slipping.
The boy who does not come to class
Because he has not eaten for days…
He stands in front of a door,
But does not possess the key.
And he is not alone.
Hundreds of tiny fists
Are pounding on this door
And here I stand, on the other side
With only one key pressed in sweaty palms.
I need more hands—
Two is not enough.