Truce
(for
all Children of War)
today,
I did not waken to
the sounds of war
morning tea
was not seasoned
by the mist of
crumbling mortar
left on a makeshift
and empty table
broken rows of empty seats
no longer watch the stage
signs are missing
familiar landmarks lie lost
among the scattered rubble
by the looks of his dead family
must be about a week
he’ll be gone soon too,
you can tell
there’s the pharmacy
blown to hell
…“little bit” needs medicine…
but I don’ know what kind
and I don’t know how much
God!
where’s the relief truck?
are they sending supplies?
what year?
the streets are so quiet
silent, almost
as if, grief
naturally muffles
…I want to cry…but nothing comes…
no tears
no prayers
no help
I have to go back
still no food
“little bit”,
who’s growing weaker
“little bit”,
who likes to bug me at school
“little bit”,
who will die
during my afternoon
nap
…today, I woke to find…
I had slept through my sister’s
final farewell
