Day 501/Ceasefire Day 31

No one followed the boy
to the place where he hid.
No one saw him slip between blocks
of concrete, no one heard his steps
as he climbed to a place
where he couldn’t be seen
and then dropped down.  It was dark.
Darkness of midwinter night, darkness
of stones lying on stones, remnants
of buildings that had stood there,
darkness of months of death
and the stench of death, darkness
inside the boy, all around him.  No one
followed him to the place 
where he’d chosen to hide,
a place he had found, a place
that reminded him of a game
he’d played once
with friends, though he couldn’t remember
the game or when he’d played it
and with which friends.  Everything,
everyone, gone.  Gone.  Stench
of death there’s no hiding from, a place
dark and quiet enough to be refuge
from thoughts, nightmares, words.  Words?
No one followed the boy
but his brothers were calling him.
Where was he?  Where, he wondered,
was his voice?  Why
couldn’t he find his voice?
Had he died with everyone
who had died?  Darkness. Darkness.
A hand reaching down for him:
his older brother calling his name.
No one followed the boy
but his brothers knew somehow where
he had gone.  Reached down for him.
Dredged him up from his darkness. Carried him back.