every grain a life

waiting for the relief trucks

We wait patient,

Spits of flesh,

Wrapped against the sun,

Bowls ready, lips dry.

Trucks expected at ten.

Sirens. Arrival imminent.

Dust clouds flare shimmering.

Distances diminishing.

Wait wilting, begging bowls lifted.

Smiling faces. Helmets. Blue and white.

Guns holstered. Foreign voices.

Don’t stop. We run, chase.

Sacks cast. Breaking. Burst.

They watch us scrabbling –

Every dusty grain a life –

Laugh at hunger’s theatre. Retreat.

I gather what I can and return.

Adam looks up as I enter,

Drops back to twitching sleep.

Ehva does not stir.

I stoop, check if she’s warm.