She told me:

he is my son
the first gift of my womb
and of my pain
as soldiers line
six deep
at high noon
to return to him
the fruits of his labors

the roar of the watching crowd
and cries of those he had sent
sometimes at dawn
to their deaths
were sound beds to her request.
she said,
I have suckled him
with hopes of a better day
but he laughed and scorned
as I wept and moaned

now dry eyed

she watched unflinching
as the guns boomed
his body limp
on the drums to which
it was staked.

She signed the papers
to take him away
for burial.