New Poem

I think this is a poem. I'm not sure. It came to me in that diffuse period between waking and sleeping, so I wasn't quite sure how to work with it.

I'm also not sure it's very good, so I'll let you be the judge.



Iraq

I am kneeling
in the dirt, my child
pressed against my chest,
she squirms and cries,
her hair tickles my neck
and I am crying, pleading
for my life,
screaming
"I am a mother! I am a mother!"
and the soldier stares at me
seeing only a threat
as I
pull the trigger,
her body slumps
to the ground
and I feel cold,
body shaking,
throat dry,
mind blank and racing,
convinced she concealed
a bomb,
an IED,
something,
anything
to explain the fear,
the survival instinct,
the need to pull the trigger
and it's
my blood,
my gun,
my child,
my screams,
all of it mine,
my eyes
watching myself
bleed to death,
my blood in the dirt,
my dirt,
my death and my kill,
and I am
the dead woman
the soldier
the crying child
all of it
mine . . .
and yours

poetry poem Iraq we are one