The Weight He Carried Poem by Mervyn Seivwright

He wrapped each night in a bullet
woven weighty blanket around himself,
his security, tapping fingers crooked

against a rifle stock, wooden, metal
weapon half his size, tightening his grip
during sweat echoing nightmares. Shell shocked

wide-eyed at bullets bulged holes, fresh meat stained
by poked flame, bloating his mother and father's
blood. Rebel soldiers dragged him, at age nine,

away from a village family thought
shrouded from Congo's carnage. Now orphaned
carrying machine gun ammo supplies

with other orphans--scared. Not escaping
without bullets slapping their backs, limping frames.