Victory Days

Dana Mirghani

I remember the victory days after war.

We’d ride in your fathers Landcruiser,
jolting through the rubble road.
Past tear gas cans and burning tires,
breathing in aromas
of sulfur and black powder.

We’d gawk at the town as if it wasn’t scary,
as if we weren’t watching our home
crumble and burn.

I looked at you through the rearview mirror,
caught a glimpse of your eyes,
your smile.

War brought out our silliness
most unexpectedly,
as if everything else
seemed trivial.

Love became simple when people were dying.

Love became necessary–
not earned
nor proved
nor explained.

Love saved us from a different kind of heartbreak.
A heartbreak only a motherland
would bestow.