She breaks and crumbles like the building that once housed her dishes and hand-woven mats Before her the dust covered child lies open with his life draining into the earth, a rubble covered, unrecognizable patio, the play yard of her son. Where his chubby legs took tentative steps toward her Arms reaching – eyes laughing to be caught and held closely. Somewhere distant the decision was made not in her Mosul Jidideh neighborhood but the Strategies and Calculations about her flesh about her blood about her life without her input were Somewhere she could not reach. As her hands and fingers extended to caress, M o m e n t s, Acres of time cut through her existence cut through her soul and the distance stretched and elasticated outward until the whistle and burst and fire ate space and that small boy with his trusting eyes and smile. Ripped and torn and fragmented to the ground on the ruinous wreckage of their sun-soaked day. She melts and evaporates This mother of now no one Her own young blood pouring over her only child