Day 1,027

with thanks to Dr Dorotea Gucciardo

No more than two years old.
Possibly — given
the levels of starvation —
two-and-a-half. She’s walking
alone on the ruined road, shoulders
hunched, back stooped, carrying
a heavy jug of water. Her
little arms bent backward
over her head
to secure it. We
don’t know who
may have sent her:
a mother who just
gave birth to her sibling?
A father whose legs
were blown off in a bombing?
We don’t know
how many times
she has walked this same road
to get water for her family;
she’s been fixed in the sniper’s
eye, the quadcopter’s
vicious aim. We don’t know
what the weight of the jug,
carried day after day,
will do to her spine, or
how many more times
she’ll survive this errand.