He heard it on the news
that morning
with his toast and eggs
and weather report
Another soldier
killed
on the other side of the world
on a dusty street
in the southern city of Basra
Looking back he will
tell himself that he knew
he knew when he heard it
he will tell someone else
in years to come
that when he heard it
he went empty inside
He is standing in his field
looking to the north
wondering if it will ever rain again
From out here you can see
for miles down the road
He sees them coming
a black shiny car
trailing a cloud of dust
he wants to run
deep into the fields
to hide
so they can't tell him
what they've come to tell him
but it’s too late
he knows
so he
waits
That night he has a dream
He is in his field
the rain has come
the cotton is growing strong
a neighbor whom he doesn’t
recognize has dropped
by for a visit
How’s that boy of yours he asks
we heard he joined the army
and he answers
well - at the moment
he is lying face down in his own blood
kicking and trying to scream
but he can’t
he just took a bullet in the neck
you know one of those big nasty kind
that rips a hole bigger than your fist
it took out all his veins and arteries
and his vocal chords
he can’t scream
but he’ll be dead in a minute or so
and then he wakes up trying to scream himself
The days pass
the rain does not come
but he knows it will
someday it will
the planting has been done
he picks up a handful of dirt
holds it for moment as though
it was fragile
then lets it sift between his fingers
and fall back to earth
and he wonders
how much different it is
from the sand that blows
on the other side of the world
winding like a snake
as it covers the blood
on a dusty street
in the southern city of Basra
