Wasn't planning to post anymore but Xinyuan's post reminded me. (Xinyuan if you want it off tell me, I koped the after-tag half of your post.)

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From Xinyuan's blog:

Today's RALA test poem was niggling, and I had read it before (Crystal says, on Foyle):

How to Watch a Child Die
Amanda Chong
Avert your gaze from his eyes,
even if they plead for you to be drawn to its depths.
Instead focus on his sallow complexion
the sun crawling on his aged skin,
the colour of the well-trodden carpet
in your living room;
the spot where your son once threw his football boots
and you missed bleaching
for the past few years.

Do not try to guess his age
or say, he is older than he looks
as you study his brittle bones, too-large head
and the empty basket of his ribcage.

Think instead of the sound they may make
when his body is thrown into a ditch;
the sound of rain whipping through branches,
the crackling of a creek before thaw
or your antique vase
crashing into smithereens
from its place on the mantelpiece.

Turn away from the blank faces of your own children
and make no associations.

Pretend you do not notice
how your teenager leaves her food
uneaten on her plate. (Convince yourself you are not an escapist)
After all,
this skeletal child is merely
a marionette in a macabre fairytale.

Now, ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach
as you get up to dish out dessert.

Resolve to write to the authorities
to complain for showing such
disturbing footage during dinner.

Be blind to the broken birds of the child's
hands as they reach out pleading to be held,
the rolling whites of his eyes, the bruised animals
of his lips, parting, as he takes his last..

Turn off the television set.

Children should not know that
(in some very remote parts of the world)
they may die before their mothers.

Do not shut your minds, but let this fester in your thoughts; it is better to penitently recognise your unblameable yet changeable role in this, than to bury yourself ostrich-like, a fool in the face of truth.

(end)
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What really scared me was that I found myself about to tell her to please not blog about it or something because while doing the test today I felt so guilty I almost cried writing the second question (causing a fair amount of incoherence, but that's not the point).

Then I realised I was doing exactly that: running away from guilt and everything I was feeling as I wrote the essay. I called myself a hypocrite, expressed remorse and shame for being one of the lucky ones and silently swore to never be like the mother in the poem. Yet I almost failed to control my instincts. So yes, I shall not run away or hide. I shall face up to my feelings, and do my best to help others around me.

This post shall serve as a reminder.