AIDS. HIV.

These words strike terror into my heart.

Innocent eyes stare up at me.

Laughing hands grip my own.

Black in white.

Both red blood.

A smile disarms my terror.

A girl plays.

Boys catch a football.

“Will you push me?”

“No, me first!”

Waist-high people swarm about.
I look at the gathering storm clouds and wonder, should we go out?

Why not? It’s the house mom’s time to rest.

“Push me higher!”

“Let’s race!”

Tears of fighting.

A warm embrace.

The storm clouds grow nigh.

Lightening breaks across the sky.

“Let’s race back to the house!”

Carrying the youngest and slipping in the mud,

we huddle in the house.

The girl’s room is big.

Bunk beds and mattresses on the floor.

Dolls, clothes, and books strewn across the door.

“This is my bed.” “And mine.” “And mine.”

They sleep 3 to a bed.

Let’s watch TV.

“No TV on Sundays.” I say. “Let’s read books.”

“What’s this in your hand?”

“A Camera.”

“Let me take pictures! Yes, let’s take pictures!”

I shudder to let my prize into grubby hands.

But then, why not?

Laughing, they are kids who get to live another day.

And, this I pray, that they will get to live yet another day.

I pray that a cure will be found.

Not just for the rich.

Or for the powerful.

But for these kids, who play in the rain.