Would it be of any use
to mention a mother weeping?
Not in daytime.
Not over a broken dish,
or a quarrel.
Or worse betrayal.
Or being afraid.
But something a child hears
in a black hour
when he should be sleeping.
When sleep is ripped apart,
and his eyes open in the dark,
and he hears his mother sobbing.
He hears his mother wailing,
and he is afraid.
No monster could be worse.
No goblin hiding in his room.
No fear deeper.
No pain vaster than the world falling.
I heard my mother calling.
And I fainted.
Woke up to the morning,
frightened as I can never be again.
And it happened and happened.
But the first time
I was alive.
The second time I found a grave,
and laid where my brother laid,
killed in action.
What happened then?
I found out
that when I saw death,
I was not afraid.
What happened to my mother,
happened.
She’s asleep now.
I’m still awake.