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From
the Diary of an Almost 4-Year Old
By Hanan Mikhael Ashrawi I wonder, will I see half an oven? Half an apple? Half my mother's face with my one remaining eye? I did not see the bullet But felt its pain exploding in my head. his image did not disintegrate. The soldier with his big gun and steady hands. And the look in his eyes I could not understand. I can see him so clearly with my eyes closed, It could be that inside our heads. We each have one spare set of eyes To make up for the ones we lose. Next month, on my birthday, I'll have a brand new glass eye Maybe things will look round and fat at the middle. I gaze through all my marbles, They make the world look strange. I wonder if my soldier shot her too, A soldier looking for little girls who look him in the eye. I'm old enough, almost four, I've seen enough of life But she's just a baby Who didn't know any better.
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