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Writer's pictureEditorial Staff

Suffer the Little Children

By Julie L. Moore

                   Along the Rio Grande, in Ciudad Juárez,                                                        amid the high Chihuahuan desert,                                when bitter winter arrives, asylum           seekers like a Zacatecas grandfather                     make coffee in a pot from water                                                                frozen overnight                          then mix chili with eggs                                        over the open flame made with twigs gathered within reach of the bridge                                                           that eludes them,                fire a girl warms herself by,                                         knit hat upon her head, fleece                                                  enveloping her like Gideon’s prayer                                      pleading for a sign.                     Here in the Paso del Norte,                                                         nestled in a plastic chair, another girl,                                                                                                  just one year old,                                   is wrapped in sweaters                                                          like a gift some Americans refuse. Look, for instance,                                            at Nicole Marie Poole Franklin,                                                                                       who intentionally aimed                                                                her SUV                    first at an African-American                                                                         boy ambling around his apartment complex,               then at 14 year-old Natalia Miranda                                                                          as she walked                 to a basketball game, excited to see her friends,                          cheer on her team.                                  I mean, on the sidewalks, in Clive, Iowa. Just before Christmas.                      Accelerating to make contact.                                                          Ice, indeed, suffices                                                                      when you are tender and mild                                   when words subsist as sticks,                                                                                as the thick skin of stone.            Where even air in a nation’s atmosphere                                                                               hits you hard, then runs                          from the reality of its strike.

A Best of the Net and six-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Julie L. Moore is the author of four poetry collections, including, most recently, Full Worm Moon, which won a 2018 Woodrow Hall Top Shelf Award and received honorable mention for the Conference on Christianity and Literature’s 2018 Book of the Year Award. Her poetry has appeared previously in Saint Katherine Review as well as in African American ReviewAlaska Quarterly Review, Image, New Ohio Review, Poetry Daily, Prairie Schooner, The Southern Review, and Verse Daily. She is the Writing Center Director at Taylor University, where she is also the poetry editor for Relief Journal. Learn more about her work at julielmoore.com.

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