THE MOTHER'S WAR

I ride the dusty road to Tikrit
in your rusack, in my mind
you are louder than
the rumble of trucks and
the cadence of
boots marching
and men's voices calling
over the clatter of guns

I smell your sweat
trace the path of blood
through your veins
feel the fetal curve of you
your heart is in my eyes
every hour I wait for them to kill you
and wonder if I'll know
when you cease to be

 copyright May 7, 2004
Barbara Hatch Vink

Voorheesville, NY 12186
olliesmom@earthlink.net