Day 313

The faces of the newborn twins
wrapped carefully in their swaddling blankets
Their eyes bright, their skin healthy —
How did their mother
nourish herself, how did she manage
to bear such vibrant infants —
who lived four days in this world
before a bomb took them —
and their mother and grandmother —
back to the darkness they had emerged from.
Four days.  Four mornings and nights.
Four times hunger thirst hunger.
Skin on skin.  Loneliness.  Warmth.
Four days to taste the milk of this world.
Four days to see sun, sky.  To learn
everything they could learn
about breathing.  About being held.
I grieve who they would have been.
I grieve the things they would have done.
I grieve their father, still living, who for four days
held joy in his hands that eased,
somewhat, the dread of what
he knew could happen.