Donate Now Richard Rowley, for the Pulitzer Center
Iraq
land smears into sky without a seam
diesel generators shudder and spit
tar softens in the cracked streets
women, habayas billowing black, carry water over the river of sewage in shola
poison leaches into the ground.
headed south
the tigris rolls slowly to basra
bloated with corpses,
on the highway, an iraqi flag slaps crudely welded steel.
ropes of bullets scrape the floor.
black masks and mahmodia shuttered against us.
wooden boxes strapped to the roofs of cars
at the last checkpoint before najaf, police search the coffins.
the dead press against the gates of the city of martyrs
a slap of chains, a scar on the forehead,
a palm held to the chest, a wound open to the air.
close my eyes, and hold on to what i have:
the steel cup of clean water
the cool stone of the mosque's walls
the way laughter carries across this river at dusk.
//rr