Day 1,017

from a photograph

He is one
of the lucky ones.
He lies in a hospital bed,
both his arms bandaged
but still attached to his body.
His legs still there, his skull
intact. His eyes open.
What happened to his arms
we don’t know: sniper?
Explosion? A quadcopter
hovering, firing twice
but missing its mark,
which was likely
the child’s brain or his neck?
He is, for today, one
If the damage stops here
he’ll recover, be able
to use his arms
to play ball, climb trees.
Build. Paint. Write.
One day maybe carry
his own child. If
the damage stops here.
If the genocide
stops now. If the hospital
isn’t bombed. If the soldier
who held the remote
for the quadcopter
doesn’t decide to try it again,
this time
with more accuracy.