Heaven was missing an angel. We'll never forget you, Baby Cyrus.--Message on cloth banner hung on the site where Cyrus Belt, 23 months, was thrown off 25 feet below H-1 Freeway, Honolulu, Hawai'i, Jan. 17, 2008. Two cars hit him and on the spot he breathed his last.
It is your story that caught us off guard, not your tormentor's
report of demons and other evils. Your death flashed on our
computer alerts, telling us nothing but a traffic jam.
From the pictures we have come to know: wrapped in white
clothing to hide your fear and the fracture of your infant life.
How can it be, our angel, how can it ever be that those
who cause us misery are alive while you who give us
laughter and joy are no longer with us to remind us
that life's opposite is a stone to mark your grave?
We stopped for a while, knowing that we cannot go home,
not yet, until you are taken away to a chamber so cold
you really wished you were dead. Frozen beyond recognition
because your mother did not know how to make of your
dreams of flowers and moons? Or the sun on Waikiki
that perhaps you have not seen in its most beautiful
moment of radiating glow, telling us of hopes beyond
what mothers cannot do, what fathers will never know
what to do? For there, left alone to saunter in alleys
on streets on wandering you could not have done
were the doors were locked or the gates closed
or a guardian kept watch over you as you learn
to walk a mile and then two and then on your own
to life's turmoils. Snapping, a man caught your arm,
perhaps you laughed at him as you looked at his eyes,
a demon in a clown's clothing residing in there
and tickling you so, and tickling you some more.
You responded to his touch, worn man against
your baby skin and his smell you know sometimes
as he sat for you when you were left alone on your own.
And then he brought you to a theatre outside,
the arena of your quick goodbye. First, did he hold
you by your strong legs upside down, on the railings
with the speeding cars below, on 60-65 speed
of angry man hungered by the time of day
or by the light of the dancing sun in these islands?
Second, did he wave your body a bit a he held
you and then you shrieked with laughter
the laughter becoming terror you do not know?
Third, did he let you loose? Fourth, did he throw you off
with force your skull banged the cemented road
this act verily infantile muscle against metal
until your world cracked in half, your soul gone?
How do we say this this regret this sorrow this worry
this pain this tear this misery this nothingness
we all feel for you as you leave us not knowing
what could have become of you child of our days
going wild like wildfires like years shortening to months
such as your life? You could have grown to lead us
to saving ourselves from the perdition that is also us.
Be well, Cyrus, rest in peace, our child.
A Solver Agcaoili
Jan 17, 2008