War Poem

What do I know of death
and war, except
in the days of the Prophet,
people would strike
their tambours,
and palms met
the stretched hide.

Nusaybah used her flesh
like a shield in Uhud
and protected him
when others fled.
Elemental, she was
always in his eye.

Years after he died,
she lost a hand
and a son
the day she sprung
eleven wounds.

All I know about death
and war is:
in my own day,
preemptive strikes
smart my cheeks.
My palms meet
empty air.