Day 1,060

There are no days anymore.
There is only (what used to be
Monday?) your mother’s body
bleeding out on
the ground; (Tuesday?)
your house destroyed; (Friday?)
the bombing that killed
three cousins; (Sunday?) the baby
dying of his injuries. There are no
months anymore, only (March?) when
will we eat again? (September?)
how long
has there been no school?
(January?) how long
does it take to waste away
from starvation? Time
is not measured by clocks
anymore, not measured
by planners, calendars,
pings on the computer.
It’s measured from explosion
to explosion. By intervals
between displacements. By
standing in line for food
and not getting it. By grieving
and pain and never enough.
By litanies of loss. By a burgeoning list
of names of the dead.