I am the limbs of the children killed by the drones
gathered from the broken trees
a sad, frightening fruit
an alien among its own
hands that once clapped, faces that laughed
legs that have forgotten their dances
now too common in Yemen and Pakistan
the limbs are scattered across the land
Somalia, the Phillipines and Afghanistan
toes without feet
removed from their resting places
not rubble in the rubble
among the broken houses
missing children, missing spouses
scattered limbs in shattered homes
rocks and sticks and fingers
an eye that stares at you but cannot see
all is breathless at the site
pieces of children
a very quiet ear
all alone in the night
a finger that can do nothing
but be the missing finger of a tiny child
that Michelle will never meet as she sleeps beside the severer.
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