Day 594

The child’s face is burned, burned
down to the bone.  Who can say
who this child was? What his smile
was like, how his mouth
puckered a little
when he was sad.  How his eyes —
blue? brown? — pooled with tears.
And his hair — what color
was his hair?  Did his mother
brush it morning and evening,
with a soft brush? with her fingers?
How can a face catch fire?  How long
does a child stay conscious
when his face is turning to ash?
And who will step forward now
to wrap his broken body, cover
his face for the last time, swaddle
him in a white shroud until he looks
like everyone else who is dead?