Day 302

The child couldn’t believe
his house was ruined, kept telling his father
Take me, take me back to see it.
At last his father took him.
There was the house, or what
remained of it:  slabs of concrete,
pieces of cloth, here and there
something they thought they recognized.
The child looked at the ground.
Remembered his mother, remembered
his sister, remembered that there
was the place where he’d sat
with a friend, playing some game.
He was silent.  He looked.  Held
his father’s hand. Said at last
I wish you had never brought me back here.