By now, we know what a dead child looks like

Eyes open or eyes closed

We know the gesture of a father, hands and face raised to the sky

And the expression on his face......

We know the gesture of an old man, praying

The gesture of one mother, comforting another.

We know the urgency of young men, hurrying with their burden of bodies

Dead or alive or dying

We know the bodies lying in rows, in heaps

Before they are picked up

By the men with the stretchers and the blankets and the shrouds

And we can't help thinking

The thought won't leave us:

Of other bodies lying in rows, in heaps

And the saying, "Never Again!"

Ironic.

We can almost hear the cries, smell the smoke

And burnt blistering flesh

Using a little imagination.

The damage to buildings is terrible

Imagine, then, what has been done to soft, vulnerable human flesh.

Outside the zone of damage, cars are parked just like in any downtown area

It looks deceptively normal

But it is not.

The look in the eyes of the children is haunting.

What do the living children think, looking at the dead ones?

Whom they undoubtedly knew......

The ones who are crying you don't want to look at

There are wounds that make you turn away

You don't WANT to know their nature.

We know the color of the dead bodies and faces.

Some are grey with dust

Some are charred black

Some are red

Some are strange colors and you don't WANT to know why.

 

How can this ever be made right?

Why are such efforts being made NOT to show us this?

Where do we go from here?

Our pity, our outrage, our tears

Will they all be for NOTHING?

 

2 May 2009