He sat among the river banks,
the tops of piles of swollen earth.
He kicked the pebbles down the mounds
but could only imagine his mother,
tripping, falling, to the ground.
The stream ran in front his eyes
but all he could see was his sister,
running, rivers of her own
flowing down her dreadful, fearful cheeks.
He gripped the dirt
as his father gripped
her hair, a chair, a lamp, a knife.
He let go as the sun dawned.
This was their last, their final,
their finishing fight.