Day 624

The child has been in a coma
for three months.  While his mind
and his body were far
from reach, so many things
changed.  So much
was lost that wasn’t
already lost.  In the bombing
that pulled him 
into that blankness, 
his house was destroyed,
his father killed, siblings
killed, mother badly wounded.
The boy awakened, remembering
nothing.  Not the explosion,
not the fire, not the ride
to the hospital.  All of it plunged
into some dark region
of his ten-year-old being,
preserved perhaps in some
cells, some dreams, some
inscrutable reactions he’ll have
as long as he lives.  He woke.
Looked around.  Everything
in the hospital room was new.
Strange.  Frightening.  How
will we answer him now, when
he asks — his own voice
strange to him — Why,
if I’m in the hospital,
is my father not with me?