SYRIA'S CHILDREN
i.
These children
bare ankled
dusty kneed
belly down
on flock
they stare
you see
they have died
over and over
ii.
A mock mattress a sheet her pink
striped socks like scattered litter
the forest floor the closed border
her freezing sleeping body
iii.
Day sixteen
he slumps into
his backpack
this bleak pillow
Asphalt grates
small kneecaps
elbows
bombs grate
his dreams
iv.
Living for the day
day-to-day
Mother
child by the hand
The walk to the market
the taxi bomb
the pie never baked
The child’s wounds
weeping
No comments:
Post a Comment