My Child of Paradise  
 
Wandering from tourist safe hotels  
to walk down stone and dirt streets.  
Dark skinned tired men  
Soft round wise women  
Thin children  
 
Beautiful people  
with sweat matted black hair  
rough sun damaged skin  
buried under weeks of filth  
 
Into an orphanage,  
Crying child.  
They found him  
beside dead bleeding parents.  
I pick him up  
cuddle him close to my chest  
smooth back tangled hair.  
 
My brother calls him  
my souvenir from  
the reality of paradise.