Day 1,125

Once you dug
through the rubble of your home
to find the necklace
your grandmother had given you.
How is it possible
that you found it? Shiny
golden chain with a locket
on it, that she gave you
when you turned twelve.
She died a year later,
before the genocide.
After the bombing
you dug and dug.
Two friends and two
of your brothers
dug with you. At last
you saw something
catch the light:
shiny golden chain,
golden locket
with pictures inside
of your grandmother
and grandfather.
More bombings.
More rubble. Your brothers
gone, the friends
who dug with you
gone. Now the necklace
is all you have. You never
take it off. Your grandparents
stay with you, move
with you from tent to tent,
displacement to displacement.
This, you tell your one
remaining sister, is how
you’ll be identified
if you too are martyred:
shiny gold necklace, gold locket
catching the light. Even
if the rest of who you are
is scattered among the ruins.