Push for PORTER

And there he walks, his lop-sided stride propelling him forward.
Either side of him the road strewn with debris, with mud, with people.

See there - see his jacket.
A tiny frayed blue and yellow ribbon badge clinging onto the zip.

See there - his face. All his eleven years mapped out on his young brow.
What can he be thinking? What is he seeing?
Lviv is a dot in his backyard glance.

See there - his mother.
No. No he can't see her now. She's three days walk away.
He gets further away with each of his lop-sided strides.

See there - the red and white border.
Someone calls him to cross.
She has a calm face, her hand outstretched to him.
His finger touches his blue and yellow badge and he walks towards her.

See there - she is looking at his hand.
He holds it out for her to see.

See there - she can see the written numbers.
It's all I have, the boy mutters.

See there - she puts the numbers into her mobile phone.
Your son is safe, she says to a woman in Lviv.