Day 1,122

from a photograph

Behind the small child
sitting alone on a pile
of debris, a dog. A light brown
dog, shepherd-like. The dog
looks gentle. Young. The child,
too, is young: maybe
two-and-a half. Maybe
three. They might
have come into this genocide
at the same time.
No adults around,
no one but a child
who looks as though
he could be lost, and a dog
who also looks lost. Both
look hungry. Both
look tired, as though
they’d been walking
aimlessly about, maybe
looking for food, maybe
looking for anyone
they used to know.
Did the dog belong
to a family? Was she
loved, fed, sheltered?
Played with? Did she,
after this photograph
was taken, move closer
to the child, lie down,
sigh deeply the way dogs do,
offer some unthreatening gesture
of friendship? Protection?