A Woman in Baquba, poem by Louise Marie Del Santo

Her blood-stained dress is what
she grips at, her head thrown back
to scream the grief.

Cement, hot and dusty, below her
a wall of blood stained poles
in the background of her storm
of lawlessness.

Of bodies discovered, gagged and
bound, incidents unspeakable,
victims and victims of an escalation
of the torment of violence.

I imagine
myself without my brothers,
with only
the memory of rocking one in my arms as
a baby, playing in the snow as a child
with another.

How we laughed at the invention of
a big family at holidays,
the way we all shared
the common brown eye color
and gene pool of skin and fine hair.

How the difference between us
is only a five mile radius in all
directions. Sibling rivalry, the
race to do good in life.

And I grieve for this woman.