Day 605

Dr. Hamdi al-Najjar


Her husband takes 
his last breath. He’d been
in the hospital
for a week, his brain
shot through with shrapnel.
Possibly, because he was there
when the bomb hit their house,
he knew that nine of their children
were dead. Probably,
as he lay in intensive care,
he had no idea that, Adam, his one
remaining son, had had his left arm
amputated.  He lay for a week
attempting to live, his brain
bleeding slowly into itself,
his thoughts, his memories,
bathed in blood.  At last
there was no way to fight, no way
to keep from joining his children,
no way to keep breathing: not
for his wife.  Not for Adam.
Not for the patients he’d see
and wouldn’t see. A doctor
who’d treated him and found
he’d succumbed to his wounds
told the others, grimly, Now
someone else can be taken in.
Now we have one more bed.