Orphan

Anya Stott

Babies

wailed, screeched, shook from fear

the clunky, clamorous truck shuttled 10 hours long.

Baby hair matted to skin, toes kicked

the wooden food crates that confined them

on a beaten path to a better chance.

Bumpy journey rocks the babies

nothing like a soothing mother.

All parentless.

No family.

No home.

Arrived

Chongqing, swarmed with people, markets along the road

the sand orphanage stood tall, extending towards the sky.

Many cribs lined up in rows

next to, in front of, behind one another.

This was a street to a better chance.

Workers rocked the babies

tried to be like a calming mother.

The babies, still parentless.

No family.

No home.

Then

lips opened from laughter, wide with smiles, eyes glassy of tears

on the sleek, roaring plane.

Tiny fingers grabbed the air, looking for someone.

Found a mother’s hand in the search

in an aerial flight to a better chance.

Jarring ride but rocked

by my mother.

Her chestnut hair tickled my little nose,

his rough fingers stroked my smooth, soft cheeks.

Parents, a mom and a dad.

Two sisters waiting

in a brick, sturdy house with one wooden crib

meant for just one baby.

I’m going home. 

Anya Stott is a freshman business major from New Ringgold, PA. She was adopted from China at 11 months old and believes poetry is a great way to express her perspective.