Day 960

Joud Muhamad al-Dweik

He’s almost as long
as the three men, walking
side by side, who carry him,
wrapped in his shroud,
the last clothing he’ll wear.
One of the men is young —
could be his brother,
his friend. He’s
looking down, head
bowed, at the body
he carries, remembering
what Joud, 13, was like
yesterday, when he was alive.
A boy. A boy who ran,
played ball, gathered wood
for his family.
Who grew, grew, in spite of
starvation, in spite of
fear, until it took
three to carry him
to the place in the earth,
where he will break down
to nothing again. Where
he will not be a tall boy
anymore, or ever
a man, a father,
a worker, but dirt
and minerals.