Day 493/Ceasefire Day 23

What you remember
was that the children had been playing
in front of the house.  A clear
afternoon, warming a little, the children
having thrown their jackets
on the ground.  What you remember
was first the sound, then the whole
building shaking.  Shaking.  You ran
outside, calling their names.  Calling
for them to run, because you could feel
the shaking grow stronger, the black smoke
thicken.  Then you couldn’t see.  Then
you heard the sound of walls
collapsing.  You were standing
there where you’re standing
now, the children obscured
by the smoke, when you heard —
then saw — the front of the house
fall, as though the ground
had been taken from under it, as though
it were just a children’s tower of blocks.
You’ve come back now, after all
these months, to see 
how it fell on them, the children, 
how it crushed them there
in the midst of their game. What you remember
is their small intact jackets — one,
two, three — the jackets they’d tossed
to the side of the house, blue
blue and green, still
lying there on the ground
when the smoke cleared.