Day 1,095

For Mohammad al-Najjar

The children remember their father
playing with them, carrying them
on his shoulders, singing
silly songs to them that he made up.
Telling them stories. Telling them
not to be afraid. That one day
the genocide will end. That they
will live in a house again, plant
a garden, get a kitten. The children
believed him. They believed
their father, who was a journalist.
They believed him
because what he said and wrote
was the truth, was always
just what was happening.
What he was seeing.
And then the oppressor targeted him.
They targeted him for his truth.
They targeted him because they wanted
no one to know
the truths he told. They killed him.
And when they killed him
they cut off his head. His head!
So his children
could never look at him again.
Not even to know what happened.
Not even to say goodbye.