Masham Means Evening

Grapevine fires from beyond the hills in Arghandab

fill the land with smoke. .

At sunset it comes drifting into camp,

smelling of pot.

Somewhere a coalition fire blazes, burning up

all the best hiding spots –

another offensive begins.

It’s the end of the day in Kandahar. At the call to prayer

women in blue burqas wandering late through the bazaar,

hasten behind closed doors.

Wind carries land.

The sun sets into its own ash

and a man bikes quickly home.

Beneath the guard towers

emblazoned by the last rays of the sun –

one-eyed dog in a stone filled cemetery

prowls the pebbled mound of each new grave,

each one a tiny esker. The dog keeps vigil

beside the bombed out wreckage of an abandoned tank

inclined to a bed of rocks burned purple,

sits hunched on the ridgeline and watches birds circle

off the southern edge of the world.

He sleeps when night falls – one-eyed among the dead

and the stars described in arcs above our heads

too heavy to hold.

This is Masham.

Masham means evening.