you know how brittle and thin the bones of a fried chicken look after you have bit them bare and licked them clean imagine bones like that bulging beneath the skin of a seven-year-old girl who is only still alive because she unlike forty of her brothers and sisters was not on the school bus destroyed the other day by an expensive star-spangled bomb
her lips look like they havenβt laughed in years her skin lame as waxpaper what might have glowed once in the bright of Yemenβs sun is left instead to sag in agony from those sinless unfed bones
while she goes to sleep for the final time a tycoon somewhere eats well and rests easy on the dollars that bought the bombs not really knowing the price that has been paid
Amal Hussein was a young child whose photograph was featured in a major New York Times story on the humanitarian crisis in Yemen. There were many horrific photos, but this one caught my eye and inspired this poem. I encourage all readers to seek out organizations to which you may donate in support of Yemen, and more generally to take a stand against the military-industrial complex that facilitates massive arms deals between Western nations and Saudi Arabia, the products of which the latter uses to wage this genocidal war (a war, it must be said, that the United States supports without ever having acquired congressional approval).