On a Photograph* of a Woman Embracing a Child’s Body Wrapped in a White Shroud by John Bradley If only we knew the child’s name, height, weight, the color of their eyes and hair. If only we knew the child’s mother and father, had shared a meal, chatted over tea. If only we knew if they were connected in any way to those who committed terror. If only we knew who had slain the child, who had fired the missile, dropped the bomb. If only we knew the exact place and time, could have watched live as it occurred. If only we knew the pilot who was involved, knew their heart, their hands, their family. If only we knew the immediate reason, strategic purpose, the lasting consequences. If only we knew where the child’s body will be buried, who will be at the burial. If only we knew who will visit the grave, what they will say over it. If only we knew who will use this photograph, how it will be used, and why. If only we could forget having seen this photo, knowing it exists, will always exist. If only we could say we had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with any of it. If only we knew the immediate reason, strategic purpose, the lasting consequences. If only we knew the right words to say, how to say them, and to whom. If only we didn’t know the name of the five-year-old girl, the name of her aunt. If only we could keep saying, If only. *The photograph, taken by Mohammed Salem, shows Inas Abu Maamar holding the body of her five-year-old niece Saly. Copyright 2023 by John Bradley
John Bradley is the editor of And Blue Will Rise Over Yellow: An International Poetry Anthology for Ukraine (Kallisto Gaia Press). His most recent book is Dear Morpheus, The Glue That Is You (Sos Madres Press). He is currently a poetry editor for Cider Press Review.
