from the sky.
The blood pooled like tears running down the street.
Mothers had no time to weep. They were busy
washing.
Washing blood-stained clothes
their children no longer needed.
Washing dirt from faces
to see if the child belonged to them.
Stepping over it
onto the next in the pile
until they found the life they had created.
Heavy hearts like a casket
they wouldn't need.
Children already turned to ashes.
B.K. xo
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