Day 506/Ceasefire Day 36

At twelve, she’s lost everything.
Father dead, mother dead, siblings.
Best friend dead.  Other friends. Teachers.
It’s cold and rainy and she has
just one shirt, one pair of jeans.
No jacket.  The shirt short-sleeved.
Has it been so long
since she’s spoken to anyone
that she doesn’t remember
how?  How
to tell a story?  Father dead.  Mother
dead.  Cold, she says. Hungry.  House
bombed.  Nothing, she says.
Vast uncharted spaces in her mind
between one memory and another.
Rubble spaces.  Dust spaces. Nothing,
she repeats, wanting
perhaps to be understood.
Nothing left?  Nothing
more to say? Nothing
to look for?  Nothing
to hope for?  Nothing
in her stomach, nothing
in her heart?