Day 1,025

Wait for me
were the last words
you heard your sister
speak. Wait for me
as she ran from the tent
down the sandy road
to where there was water.
She was going to fill
the buckets. You
and your brother
were going to walk
to the edge of the sea
with the younger ones.
She wanted to go.
Wait for me! she called
back to you, turning
her head. Her hair
windblown. Her feet
bare — her shoes
had too many holes
to be useful. She
was going to get water
so you’d have something
to cook with later.
Something to wash
the little ones’ feet with
after the beach. (The three
of you older ones —
your brother
only ten —
taking care of the littles
since your parents
were killed.) You waited.
Waited. The children
were crying. When?
Why can’t we go?
Your brother
began walking down
that same sandy road,
when suddenly
a neighbor from the tent camp
appeared. You called
to your brother,
who came running back.
It was good he was there
beside you when the neighbor
gave you the news.