Thank You, Maria Colvin

by Edward Harsen

In a crater
in an apartment in Homs,
there is a satchel
of ripstop nylon
that will not melt
even at mortar temperatures,
covered now in pulverized stone –
a kit of necessity smuggled
to families become infernal.

A sin of shells arcs darkly
into hollow kitchens and gardens,
through air sick with your
last breath and the scorched flesh
from scores of Syrians.

Save a journal,
what does a witness pack
that’s not already abandoned
at the end of the world?
You’ve brought back all we can take:
a boy lies in his shattered street,
belly rising and falling until he dies.

©Edward Harsen 2012

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