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The Mother enters, carrying the dead Child in her arms; approaches the pile.The Mother:Hello, dead children.I brought my son here.He’s dead. He’ll lie with you.Dead Children:You brought…
A choked wail . . . Mama paces around the narrow room as though asking for something, her hands grasping her head and striking her heart, and with sobs caught in her throat, she calls out:“Woe unto me…
I wipe the dust off my books
with a small t-shirt, an old t-shirt
which was once my son’s. We have
more dust this summer than last,
and its composition is different…
