Day 706

A boy is picking through the rubble,
looking for anything there might be
to eat.  Looking for shoes
that might fit his sister.  Looking
for a ball to throw, a piece of a blanket
to cover his mother, a cap
to shield himself from the sun.
He is picking through the rubble
of somebody’s world.  He doesn’t know
who they were, the people
who lived in this building.  Did
they have children his age?  Were
they asleep when the bombs
exploded?  Were they awake, sitting
and talking?  Were the parents
teachers? Nurses? Plumbers?
Were they sitting at their table?
Were they sleeping in their beds?
What were their voices like?  What
did they feel when they saw
the walls caving in, all the objects
of their lives falling on top of them?