Crying women, shouting out their despair.
Silent women frozen in the biggest grief.
This autum they all seem to come from B.
Like in Bagdad and Beslan
Floods of tears.
The indescribable sorrow behind the letters and the images in my morning paper. The horror I swallow down with a cup of tea.
I try to close my eyes,
but their faces are like projected on the inside of my eyelids.
