Yesterday in Beirut, a bomb exploded killing at least 130 people and injuring more than 4,000. Half the city suffered notable damage. It is, by all accounts, a catastrophe. The news arrives in a home across the Atlantic. It is understood that it is a senseless tragedy and a head is disappointingly shaken at the news. The person across the Atlantic moves on and does not think of it again.
Today in Beirut, a mother woke up without a son. She could not get up from bed today – today, in Beirut. The memories ran on a loop in her head. His face had not been customarily kissed goodbye that morning before he left for the day, yesterday in Beirut. They had been quarreling about his performance in school. Today in Beirut, the world holds no meaning for her. It is not understood that it is a senseless tragedy.
Today in Beirut, a husband did not attend work. His task for the day has been tending to his wife’s funeral. She would be buried aside their recently born child. It was their first – a girl. He had finally finished painting her room and he would read to her there, in that room: that room in Beirut that’s no longer there. It is not understood, that this is a senseless tragedy.