They were quilted in each other’s blood
eyes open, locked, and empty
as the casings that once danced in dust, now mud.
She was eight or nine. Him, maybe ten…
Their only crime was finding an old phone.
Their fingers stabbed at buttons: my mistake!
I thought they were a bomb.
I stitched them both together
With a burst
that resonates through every sleepless dawn.
When later I explained what had gone wrong
he stared into my eyes and shook his head
`Son, we’ll torch the place’ is what he said
`You best try forget it and move on.’
.
Steve Scott
.