Who
can I say
goodbye to
after
the barrel
bursts? When
my mouth is empty
of names, whose
pain should I
lament?
When the dull ache
of iron flattens
the wind-creased
February night,
who
can I cry for, whose
shattered fragments
should I gather in
my thin nylon skirt, whose
shards glue together
in my vain efforts
to reconstruct
a hard-lost life?
When galaxies weep,
and the very stars,
like shimmering shrapnel,
rain down
on peaceful dreams,
on furtive love,
on heated words
that cannot be
recalled,
who
tell me
who
can I say
goodbye to?
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
(Photo: Scott Bob, VoA News, via Wiki Commons)
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