Day 1,127

How many children murdered this week?
Enough to fill a classroom, a classroom
that’s been, itself, destroyed. One girl
in her tent, eating her breakfast.
One boy walking to get wood. Another
walking to get water. A girl
sitting beside her friend, showing her
the book she’d been reading. Her friend
killed also. The book
stained with their blood, unreadable.
This four-year-old
on his grandfather’s lap
at a café the grandfather
took him to, to distract him.
This teenager, who brushed
and brushed her long hair,
strafed. Shredded. Her hair
still shiny, streaming
behind her in the dust
from her bloodied head. How many
children? How many desperately
grieving parents? How many more?