Days & nights I carried two weapons everywhere. I wore pockets of bullets across my chest. I wasn’t of age. I was pretty much a virgin. Nights I’d watch women wail & scream as I stole their son, husband, brother. I’d search these men, inch by inch, between the legs, up the ass cheeks, then walk them, hands zip-tied, to the truck & all the while the women screamed. Nights & days all of us — eight, ten, a dozen soldiers — stood there mute, numb, as quiet as we could be in a room filled with screaming. Sometimes I may have even yawned or laughed. Sometimes, some long nights, I’d pace & mutter fucking Jesus while the women also spoke, in refrains, their god’s name, & I’d want to scream back but couldn’t.