We skirt the villages
On the goat trails
Searching for those displaced
The villagers avoid us
As they avoid, those we seek.
In a rudimentary concrete shelter
We find half a family
Of the children remaining
One has an appalling skin condition
I do not need the translator
To ask for how long.
A woman, only recently young
Emerges from another house
She lives alone with her elderly mother
The translator explains
Then in the van, takes a heavy breath
She will never get married now.
We spot a hut
Isolated from the rest
The man who steps out
Has etched lines for a face
I came here six years ago
His voice rasps
With my truck, family
And all my worldly things
I nod politely
Looking at what is left
And return quickly to the van.