Aleppo
The embattled city
of no water.
By a dirty puddle
I ask you to wait.
How can you wait
for water?
You’re four.
My boy, the apple of my eye.
Games of adult men
may claim the treasure I live to guard.
I kept my father’s words
He called
to tell me
all about the meaning of life:
“You’re it,” he said.
I caress your little head.
“Would you like me to tell you
about the meaning of Mommy’s life?”
I cradle your head
as I give you the dirty water to drink
while the city falls down around us.
If I have sinned,
if I have sinned—I, who never prays—today, I pray
that I pay for not making this world a beautiful world—not you.
Not you,
my boy,
for you have no fault.
In mid-2016, repeated attacks severely damaged Aleppo’s water infrastructure, leaving over two million residents without access to the public water network.
I carry the love with me
I carry the love with me
I carry your love
like the jars full of treats you used to send me
I kept your pictures
your notes
I carry the love with me
like a jar full of liquid
I’m careful not to spill
The jar swells under the pressure of love
And I promise myself
to pass it on to my son.
I realize
we’re fleeting.
I’m curious
whether when this ends,
something else begins.
Even if there is nothing
now I know
my role here is to carry the jar
of love
like a torch.
Like a torch
I pass it on to my son.
