“A voice is heard in Ramah”

From Matthew 2:18

If my little family lived in Bethlehem,
neighbors to the Christ child,
my son would be among the number
slaughtered by a jealous king.
Somedays it feels like historical
chance kept my child from the cruel
fate of Rachel’s children—
chance that kept him from plague
for two long years,
chance that kept me distant
from a shooting,
chance that kept him too young
to be in an elementary school
yesterday, huddled behind desks,
slaughtered by an angry man.
This chance feels too small
to spare a breath.
So let me weep and mourn
with mothers
uncomforted.