Child Bride Burns to Death

Zahra loved the idea of learning
And so she juggled, starred in a play
Imagine for a second a young child burning
Then try to have a normal day

Are fresh-picked berries any less sweet?
Does the breeze still soothe leaves at dawn?
Does the stream not delight my daughter’s feet?
While in Afghanistan, the fire goes on

dowry/chattel at eleven
Four months pregnant at fourteen
Abused and beaten, a possession
Her final taste was gasoline

I drink a cup of coffee black
Another perfect morning passes
And yet the image keeps on coming back
Can we rise up from these ashes?

Dennis Caraher

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