Afaf was one hundred and twenty days old when arrested

Damascene Ba’ath enamel extracted her soul stiff

to mine information from a mother and disabled father – rebel minds

fortnight tipped away

parents missing, presumed dead

Afaf’s corpse arrived at her uncle’s Homs house bearing dark torture marks

that smote the imagination to wail hard into the night

When it is the children that turn pavements molten with sacrifice

having chipped their foreheads at the presidential altar

soldiers pounded violet grapes into your silken back

using dogs they found in their hearts, berserk

raucous snarls bit,

inevitable pleas,

as they held you aloft and pitted,

bullet fingertips,

the bastards put in you everything they had

and if they live to witness their own daughters’ gullets hung from iron hooks

then the God of fire is good

God is infinitely beauteous

and we will pelt their bodies with daddy’s shell casings

and survive as jigsaws in this until the grief exhales

when the blowing of prayers is almost enough

and wind ships no pollen

and children have expunged crying at wounds, for us,

or semen is staunchly infanticidal

love the wetting of enemy skulls

and the welded black nipples

kissing men goodnight

from afar



with puckered eyelids

brave flower, you look like you’re sleeping again