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The Smallest Ones
In my nightmares, there are children playing in a field of tall grass, so tall that the only way I know the children are there is by the sound of their voices and the way the grass moves as they run. Then there are men, impossibly tall men, dressed all in camouflage, with guns strapped…
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Refuge.
They are laughing in the sand, their high-pitched voices crossing over and under each other and up into the sky into the clouds dirty hands reaching for each other, circling around singing songs whose words we cannot recognize but the tune is universal; nursery rhymes are all the same. They are smaller than the dogs…
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April Fox 