Day 348

All her father could find 
were her pink skates.
The rest of her buried
under the rubble,  Her laugh,
her stories about her friends,
the way her hands moved
when she spoke, her memories
of her grandfather — all buried,
everything but the skates
she’d pulled on
just minutes before
the bombing.  She had wanted
to be in school, she had wanted
to be in her garden.  Her friends
were skating so she put on
her skates.  No one could have known
what would happen.  There.  Then.
All her father could find of her
after he heard the explosion
were her pink skates, and he
will leave them on her feet
for eternity to know who she was.