The Children’s War

By | 13 May 2024
Children at the beach
dig shoe-box-sized pits
to bury their little
brothers and sisters.
They dig with their hands
or bubblegum-coloured spades.
Some are swaddled,
bleeding rose petals between soft folds.
Some are skeletons, re-assembled
from pieces of flotsam,
driftwood, pink and white shells.
It’s the children’s war, and they dig
thousands and thousands
of these little graves,
until the beach is a sponge.
The little brothers and sisters
looked up at a Gazan slice of sky
(all they knew) before it filled with:
the droning of dragonflies,
white phosphorus, and bombs dropping.
Children and sea spray
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