Every Eight Hours

Into a slice of space between baked earth and twisted metal her muddied, infant body wriggled into the scraping shadows. Each gasping breath she took reshaped itself to violent shaking.

Helpless, scalding tears overflowed. Her tragic eyes closed. Tightly wrinkled. Seeking the protective unavailability of seeing her sanctuary discovered. Thunderous explosions sucked the stifling air away. Debris of assaulted architecture rebounded and rained down, coating every strand of her oily, matted hair in dust. She re-imagined the bruising ancient masonry protecting her until darkness. But staccato gunshots punctuated her panic, punched, punctured, penetrated. Her peace began. Their war continued.