Day 488/Ceasefire Day 18

(for Refaat Alareer, a call and response)

Plumes of black smoke.
They have found the body of Refaat.
The ceasefire has made it possible.
Ash of anything that remains
besides stone and concrete.
After more than a year
they’ve identified him, given him
a proper burial.
Will the soldiers as they retreat
not allow even one small thing
to be preserved?  One ribbon
of clothing, one
child’s shoe?  When he was murdered
there were houses here, streets.  Cafés.
They are burning everything
they have not destroyed.  There
was a university.  There was a clinic.
Twice, three times, I dreamed
he was not dead, he was hiding,
he would re-emerge
when the worst was over.
He would tell his story.
There are children digging
to find whatever they can find.
His oldest child murdered too, his small grandson.
Now their lives are lived over corpses.
Now these graves are their playground.
Now they sleep on the ruins of their homes.
Now we know where he lies.  His words, his poems
reach across the world.  Now we know
where he is.  And he has
not been destroyed. He is everywhere.