Day 635

This child is walking away
from his tent.  His brothers and mother
are in the tent, sleeping.
He’s twelve.  He’s wanting to walk
to where they’re distributing food,
though he knows the danger. That’s
why he’s walking away now,
at two in the morning, because he knows
they’d all keep him from going.
He wants to bring something for them
that will keep them alive
a few more days.  He wants
to feed them.  He’s
the first son, his father
martyred a year ago.
He’s walking under the stars now:
thin hook of a moon, the summer night
mild, dark air enveloping him.
Quiet.  No drones, no planes,
no shots being fired.  Two in the morning.
He walks, walks more quickly, knows
what he’s risking, knows how fast
and agile he is, thinks he could dive
behind a rock.  Imagines now
what he’ll do when the soldiers
start firing.  How he’ll push
through the crowd, how he’ll carry back
the little box of food.  Imagines
the squeals of his brothers
when they open the box.  The look
of amazement mixed with concern
on his mother’s face.