Day 935

The boy has lost
both his legs.  Lost?
As though they
could be found somewhere?
Somewhere? Where his house
was? Where his school
was?  Where his
friends were? His
laughter?  Now he sits
in a wheelchair, pushed
by his brother.  It’s been so long
since the bombing, the hospital,
the boy can’t remember
what it was like
to run, play ball.  He watches
his brother, kids
in other tents.  Sometimes he dreams
he still has one leg; sometimes
both.  Sometimes he dreams
nothing like this
ever happened: his parents
are living, they all
are walking together
somewhere, like they did
before, even (most
simple, most ordinary)
just to the bakery, the grocery.