Day 392

On a single day, in a single hour,
you lost twenty-one people
in your family.  Father, brother, sister,
sister, niece, nephew:  count them,
name them, tell their stories
so they will not go under the rubble
forgotten.  This one was going to university.
This one was fixing his house.  This one
was ten years old, this one twelve.
The smallest one was just learning to talk.
Speak of their voices, the shapes of their mouths,
the gestures they made when they were excited.
Speak of the things they liked to eat, the way
one of them smiled a little when she
was embarrassed. Imagine the children
grown.  Imagine them loving, singing, working.
Hold each of them in your mind. Say the goodbyes
you never got to say.  Carry them with you
as you go about your day, though no one
can see them:  a grief so heavy
it bows your shoulders as you walk.