I was summoned from the fields
one midday. this kid half my age
in mercenary garb shows me
a nifty gadget taken from his enemy.
a camera, he says, witnessing
his and his horde’s latest conquest.
one girl, this kid half their age
her camiso shirt, tafetta pants
being ripped off. her left leg bleeding
both her arms pinned. one after another
they forced themselves upon her
weak, wounded body. one after another
they forced their tongues upon her
mouth to keep from screaming.
and when they were through,
all their spit in her mouth could not
prevent streams of curses from
gushing out, muffled only by
the staccato of gunfire tearing through
her chest. a pistol in my temple,
I cannot blink.
alone now with the midday sun
drenching her lifeless remains,
I weep for my child of the mountains.