Day 300

The children had been playing on an open field,
still unspoiled enough for their game.
They were playing football, their voices
jubilant when the ball reached
their makeshift goal, the cheers
of those who watched on the sidelines
raucous, spirited.  Then the drones.
Then the bombing.  Then everything
went dark.  Then smoke, then blood, then
pieces of clothing, pieces of flesh.
There was silence, then wailing.  Then
names were called out.  Then a few
faint voices, answering.  More silence.
Then a girl who had been standing
and cheering saw the ball — unfathomably
intact — rolling away.  Rolling.
Ran toward it, picked it up, 
held it close to her body 
as though it could have been
her brother.