Steps in Darfur


If you walk barefoot here,

You’ll notice the hardness of things, 
Dried, harsh gray and ecru.

The ground looks like sand 
But does not give.

Here, dirt, rock 
Are the same.

Walking, running, the same,
Your feet do not sink.

In this place, not even knees get saved.





Garsila Village


In Garsila, there are brick walls
Scarred black without roofs,
Metal cauldrons
Surrounded by piles of ash.

Good or bad or unforgivable,
The things we make and do
Always outlive us.

In Garsila, there are
No sounds, no use
For any of this.





Make Me What I'm Not


Captain Steidle enters the village,
The only American in the team of five.

He is welcomed
By a handful

Who survived because they were smart
Enough to play dead.

A woman, not yet twenty,
Brings her baby to him.

Captain Steidle is white, male; therefore,
In this place, to all who see him, a doctor.

He is not.

The baby had a bullet pierce his back:
A small wound below the shoulder

Where the bullet entered;
A larger wound, a mess of blood and skin

On the opposite side,
Just above the hip.

Captain Steidle speaks English to the woman,
Tells her to lay the baby down.

She does not understand.

He takes off his shirt,
Lays it on the ground,

Takes the baby from her, gently,
Gently lays the child there.

He wipes away what blood he can, takes the shirt,
wraps it tightly around the larger wound.

He shakes his head, again speaks English,
But not to her, not to anyone near,

And asks for help.

Credits:“Steps in Darfur” was first published in Yellow Chair Review; “Garsila Village” was first published in The Camel Saloon; “Make Me What I’m Not” was first published in Eunoia Review .