Kunduz Trauma Centre, 2 October 2015

for Kathleen Thomas

She stepped out the door for the first time in days

and followed the string of a kite with her eye

down to the boy who was watching the blue

of the cloth against the darker blue

of the cloudless autumn sky.

The spiraling kite was as lively as

the boy was quiet; his hands were enough

to keep the blue moving through the blue.

She stood as still as that boy and thought

she saw a white dove on the blue of the kite.

She kept her back to the door for as long

as she could, her mind on the kite overhead

and not on the hospital’s wards and the wounded

who kept coming in from both sides as they fought

for control of the town. There was no other kite

to be seen, no humming of planes or…