Day 339

Another child dies of starvation.
Her body has eaten itself: first
the muscles, then the inner organs.
Her body has been eaten by cruelty,
by disregard.  By foul water,
fetid air, ravaged soil, spoiled meat,
moldy vegetables. Her body
that was four years into this world —
her body that walked, ran, played,
laughed, held and was held —
her body has faded, dissolved, retreated
into darkness, blankness, emptiness.
Her small body has been sucked into nothing.
Nothing is her body now.  Her body of nothing.
Her name of nothing.  Her voice of nothing.
Her mother’s arms cradling nothing.
Her father’s breath warming nothing.
Her sister’s arm, stretched around her
through so many nights, is stretched
around nothing.