Day 561

The metal pots and pans in the tent
were melted by fire
from the bomb’s explosion.
The canvas tent
lay collapsed in a pile of ash,
melted. Even the bones 
of the children were melted.
Nothing to know them by,
nothing to recognize.
Their mother lay with them,
melted.  A woman from a nearby tent
told of the children playing
the night before: running
between tents,
kicking a ball.  They had walked
to see family; had eaten
what little there was to eat,
lay down in their tent to sleep.
Now they will need no graves.
Now their ravaged bodies 
will be absorbed
by dust.  Now there is nothing
to know them by.  They lived.
They played.  They laughed.
Their mother held them
as they slept.  Far
from where they were burned,
the ball the children had played with
had rolled away.
Was whole.  Would be found now
by other children.