Day 567

Tell me, do people feel pain
when a bomb falls on them?
The child, who is five, is asking her mother.
In another place, in a different time,
the child might ask if an apple feels pain
when you bite it, if the sky
feels pain when it’s covered by clouds.
Last night the tent where the child’s
friend was living was bombed.  The child
learned about it when she walked
just now, with her older brother,
to find her friend.  Nothing.  Shredded
limbs. Whose? The tent fallen, like a shroud
lying on top of everything. The child knew
her friend had tripped 
on a rock some days ago,
scraped her knee.  Had cried,
loud and hard, until someone
came, washed her knee, held her
until she was calmer.
It still hurts a lot, she said:  to
no one. To everyone.
The child is standing now in her tent.
Her mother looks at her, puts a hand
on the child’s head.  Now will her knee
get better? she asks.