Three days now I have been searching
Each day worse than the last.
A twelve year old boy alone in this city
Is a stupid and dangerous thing.
I have trudged the streets of this ominous place
Described your brown sandals, the color of your hair,
The way you just reach my shoulder.
I think of you frightened, starved,
and used In terrible ways.
I fight back vomit, the urge to collapse.
Where is your blessed father now?
Where is that revelation angel?
On this third day I drag myself
Up the steps of yet another temple
And find you surrounded
By the adoration of men.
You speak to me as if to an idiot.
"Why were you looking for me?
Didn't you know that I needed to be at my father's house?"
I do not hit you, although I ache to.
Little teacher, there is much to be learned
In your mother’s house
Before you are loosed upon the world.
For as the boy treats his mother
So shall the man treat his wife.
And you are not the only one,
With a job to do
And a world to save.