Day 410

Friend, I did not know
you had died.  I did not know
the bombs I heard
were exploding over your house.
I did not see your roof collapse, the walls
of the room where you slept
cave in on themselves, burying you
in your bed.  We’d sat in school
together for years, spoken 
of poetry, of our sisters, of how
we wanted to grow old
together, surrounded by children
and grandchildren, sit on the beach
together: two old women
serene at last, watching
the tide come in, go out, telling stories
about what our lives had been. 
Now your life has stopped forever
and I have to go on
alone, walking among these tents
on sand cloaked in dust.
The salt air we loved
heavy with smoke and the smell
of death, of sewage, of abandoned dreams.