It was a happening,
a moment in time,
some fifty years ago.
I remember
the pull on my shirt,
a plaintive voice
a cry for help,
the revulsion
that I felt.
For standing there,
Iraqi girl,
age close to seven,
dress torn,
sandals broken,
cupped hands
outstretched;
no nose,
no cheek,
no right eye.
staring out
instead
a gap,
a void,
a fly trapped
festering hole.
Horror struck,
I search,
I find a coin,
a silver one,
to give,
to push
into her hand.
I think
girl with only half a face,
please go away,
please leave my view,
seeing you
I ache, I pain,
I hurt,
for you do offend
my sight.
She had run,
had scurried off,
was quickly gone.
Now when I close my eyes.
Bob Blackwell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memory-13/
