I rub soothing circles in the blind child’s hand

For he cannot see his parents on the ground.
And as the dead weeds scrape up our ankles, I tell him of the bad guys that lie right here
But I don’t know why

And he asks why they attacked so I tell him of the hate that blocks their eyes.

Then I take him to the gravelly village road.
I veer him a little off path so as not to disturb his uncle.

Where’s Mommy he asked. Uncle and Daddy too.

I don’t know what my plan was.

They told me to take you for now, my voice cracks.

The camp is ugly. I expect it now. If only it smelled good, for him.

This day I didn’t have to deal with tears on my uniform.
But it’s not like they show up on olive green anyway.
The boy has nothing to cry about.

It was a job well done.

Tell me the truth, he says.