Day 1,102

You stand
looking out at the ruins
of the city you lived in.
You try to orient yourself:
this dome, that intersection.
This road that led down
to the sea. That
collection of houses.
But all you can be sure of
is wreckage and dirt. Dirt
piled on wreckage. Could
you point to the place
where your mother would wait
for you after school? Where
she would call to you
to stop lingering, to hurry
to get to the mosque,
the market, your
grandfather’s house?
Could you point
to the café
where you told
your oldest friend
your oldest secret? Everything
buried. Everything covered.
Everything you knew
is counting on you now
not to forget.