Maryam Amir – What I think about

Do you want to know who I think about every single day, the mother

who went like this and her hands had the

of her kids and she didn't want to wash them because she said that

it's the only thing that she has left of them. I think about the

little girl whose eyes had been completely

and she kept asking, why can't I see? And the doctor didn't want to

tell her that she'll never be able to see again. She was probably

like five. You think about the little boy, he

couldn't have been more than seven,

holding his little brother in the shroud.

His little brother was

maybe like eight months old.

I think about

the way a man held up a three year old,

but her face was melted off, and how I saw an entire building

on the of a toddler,

but you could see his legs on the other side, and they kept they

kept moving. How there was a row of children's legs sticking out,

out from under concrete, as if they had been sleeping when their

building fell on them, a group of children playing in a mass.

And

they said that they're playing in it today and they're going to be

in it tomorrow. And then I saw that same place

two days later,

and they weren't playing anymore.

I think about the toddler whose hand was so chubby

and he was holding a croissant and it was sticking out of the rubble

just his hand with the croissant, a father holding two plastic bags,

and you know what was inside, and these two brothers who one only,

His arm was sticking out of rocks of

what used to be his apartment,

and his arm was around half of the body of his brother and a doctor

standing and just staring ahead, staring ahead, had done an

amputation on his own son

without anesthesia,

and The pain was so unbearable that his child died. He

and I think about ice cream trucks filled with

not ice cream.

And I think about the laughter of the children of Liza

and how they deserve to laugh. I.