by Jeremy T. Karn Priscilla Du Preez april 2003, of the many nights, this one i dreamed of my mother — her name steaming hot in the song of a bird. outside, the rain throws itself into the arms of the glass window like a lover. ask Liberian where to find God, then we will show you the mass graves of God’s children in them. it has been two days of nonstop fighting & raining in Monrovia. the sounds of bullets could be heard in a distance like a tumtum laying in my chest. someon