filling my mental space today

This image from Reuters, of two Kenyan children, in heavy rain, at a temporary shelter for around 19,000 displaced people in Eldoret. Forwarded to me by kickass Kenyan filmmaker and changemaker, Kagendo Murungi.

And this poem, from my medic friend, Matt Brockwell, written about a small patient on his pediatrics rotation.

For Asma

Your name makes us laugh, little one,
here with a diagnosis of asthma,
as if your parents set out to tempt fate, rolled the dice, and lost.
‘Asma’ is the name inked on your birth certificate,
and now, the world is inscribing asthma into your small lungs
in an ink perfused with diesel fumes, pollen, and dust.
But one day, you will write your name
back on the world, and it will mean what you choose it to mean.
One day, your life be as full grown as a city,
you will inhabit it as your own Asmara,
like Alexander in Alexandria,
you will walk its streets and your lungs
will draw in scents of berbere, cumin, cardamom,
freshly ground coffee, you will hear your name
called out as you pass – and one day,
to the name that your parents chose
because it means ‘precious’, you will add
further definitions, of your own choosing -
perhaps ‘beloved’, maybe
‘woman who runs marathons’,
‘revered grandmother’, or
‘my friend whom I will follow to the ends of the earth’.
but for now, you watch us, your small cage
rising and falling with each labored breath,
as if we could promise you that one day,
it will be you, you who will be the one
who tells others what is
the true meaning
of your name.