Day 1,086

A small child wanders
among the tents. His face
is bruised and streaked
with tears. He’s wearing
only a tattered paper diaper,
no shirt. No jacket.
An older girl walks
toward him, asks him
his name. He doesn’t
answer. His hands, too,
she notices, are bruised.
One of them bleeding.
The girl picks him up,
carries him back
to her tent. Is he too young
to know his own name?
Too frightened
to remember it?
To answer her in a way
she can understand?
Her mother will wash him,
feed him, begin,
later, asking around
for anyone who may know
who he is. What
has happened to him.
Who he might
have belonged to.