and on the kitchen table. I left my toy horse
in its plastic bag.
I left without looking at the clock
I forget whether it was noon or evening.
Our horse spent the night alone,
no water, no grains for dinner.
It must have thought we'd left to cook a meal
for late guests or to
for late guests or make a cakefor my sister's tenth birthday.
I walked with my sister towards our road with no end point.
We sang a birthday song.
The hovering warplanes echoed across the heaven.
My tired parents strolled behind,
my father clutching to his chest
the keys to our house and to the stable.
We arrived at a rescue station.
News of ceaseless strikes roared on the radio.
I hated death, but I hated life, too,
when we had to walk to our prolonged death,
reciting our never-ending ode.
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