Sunday, February 13, 2005

An Image, Deconstructed

There is an image of a little girl, crouching on the ground, and it is an image of war. Or an instant of war; a blameless moment, an unavoidable horror. It was dark. Perhaps her father did not see the uniforms, and only saw the guns. Perhaps she and her brothers and sisters were playing too loudly in the back seat, and why couldn't they be quiet (don't make me come back there, I told you before) and he couldn't hear the shouting outside the car, and then it was loud, and now it is quiet.

And she looks like my daughter.  Same face, same nose, same hair. The spitting image. Same tiny hands, same wailing face. The same face my daughter gets when a favorite toy breaks, but this time her father is dead, her mother is dead, their blood is everywhere.

I go outside, out of my haphazard home office behind the garage. I walk towards the back field, stop at the edge, and crouch down to be nearer the weedy grass.  It is green, and beginning to grow again, now that the winter rains have soaked the ground.

--An Image, Deconstructed
Hunter, at Daily Kos

Click the link to see the image and read the rest.

More writing on the same image, A Christian's Images of War

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