Day 538

A team of children plays soccer
in a charred, dusty field
on an afternoon saturated
with the stench of death.  A team
of children running, tossing
the ball from the goal, the sidelines —
each with a missing leg,
a missing arm.  And this
is not a dream, my
dream;  not a vision,
but a true thing:  they have been given
what artificial limbs there are,
they’ve been taught
it’s possible to play, to fall,
to stand back up.  They’ve learned
through these months
that loss is not all
there is; that the joy
of kicking a ball down a field
can still exist, that — if your leg
is gone, your arm
is gone, your father is gone,
your brother is gone — still
you can have this spring afternoon,
this thrill of watching the ball —
your ball! — hit the net
of the goal.  These points
mounting until the game is done
and you walk off the field,
your one arm around a friend’s
shoulder, tired and smiling.