I am folding blankets around little bodies, tucking legs under sheets
Kissing foreheads, the smell of my children on my lips as I leave the room
I am folding leaves against toddler skin, resting his tiny body in the hollow of
A Tree, to keep warm
“Stay out of the cold” I hear myself say
“And don’t cry” like I think he may hear me…..
“They are looking for you”
But they keep walking, scouring, shaking their heads
Holding lips tight
Hopes are fading…..
And I can hear his mother screaming “Don’t stop looking for my baby”.
No-one can stop
Because we are looking for our own babies, in him
We are feeling the curling pain of terror – a child alone;
The weight of every breath she takes against the pain of this
Her baby gone
Please let him be curled up in that tree with
Big leaves over his tiny skin, dirt under his little baby nails
From scratching a bed in the earth that cradles him.
Don’t let him be anywhere else – no car, no stranger because there is a
Greater pain in that: Pain a mother cannot bear
So I place the light of the moon above him
You are a child of the Earth now little child, and
We will always be looking for you….
Melanie Robinson is a Mother of 2 boys, a Naturopath, feeler and writer who sometimes writes to dispel her anxiety. She lives in Port Macquarie NSW, nearby the Kendall community where little William Tyrell remains missing.