My wife was one of the 57.
Had she been 4? 14? 21?
Who made a mental note when they carried her
saw her crumpled face and thought, '34'?
Or did they do it after, on the ground
was she briefly 10 after 8...9...
covered with a sheet with her knees in the air
- too stiff to lay you down, my love!
There are no spaces for names between the stones
but isn't there a number that she can call hers?
Let them distinguish her from the dust
Give me something I can scream to the world
I tell you there was a sweetness in her
I won't let her dissolve within the words
unmarked as a person, but part of a scene
not just another bag beneath the dirt
not even a number to remember her by
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©pathopoet, 2006
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