where i grew up; usually about once a month or so the rebels would come through town
they'd come in on pickups, tear down the dirt track that ran through our little shanty village
two guys in the tray, one with a rifle and the other a machete
they'd take the girls, mostly. there was one, though, that would always come for the young boys.
momma always used to check us carefully, once the dust had settled and they'd put the fires out. She'd pull the little bits of glass and twist iron from my hair or sometimes under my skin
she said that if I put them under my pillow the shrapnel fairy would bring me a dollar
and then she always did
one day, after many years of hiding in the closet when the rebels come through
i have enough dollars to buy a gun
i put a bullet in my mother's brain
take my sister
and join the rebels.