a toy/bombarded

a body/beheaded

land/on fire

big    brown  eyes   looking

for something familiar;

I’m screaming as loud as I can

“Hide, baby, hide!”

but my voice can’t travel –

in my sleep you call me “mama”.

one more dawn/ you count the bombs goodmorning

one, two, three

and then a leg next to a book next to a fork

next to a finger next to a dress next to a box

next to life gone.

One more night/ you pray you will have more days

to live,love,laugh,dream

not as a vicitm of war, not as refugee,

not as the man who lost his eye, or his child, or his home

or himself when someone he’s never met,

decided that he will be collateral damage.

Miles away/ late at night

I put together letters;

I write and delete and write and delete and write and delete;

 religiously building a shrine to hold your memory in-

war won’t ever fit in words