Warmth creeps darkly over my
Sickle white skin,
A hover bee sings, cupped
By a neat current of air that swims through
My leg hairs. Blue smokes
The sky and makes it hard to see in all this
And the world is at war.
What parts of people break, when other parts break down?
Reflections of their first words, their
‘I do’s’, their wide-eyed wonder at
A newly knighted role by baby fist ovations
Now convulsing pale,
On a bed. Can they hear the tick tick tick
Of a catastrophe clairvoyance picking through
Their visions of the future, expecting their reflections
To harden in the glass and show them
Through all this grief,
Through all this fear,
They are human. And as I sit here watching pond life
They dredge through undiscovered depths of
What that means.
I wriggle my toes, watching the blossom trees.
I taste the sweetness of tea. And we are at war.
Photo by Baby QB