poem

Poem with One Metaphor

This is the split corpse of a child,

his dull lavender bowels 

spilling across a thigh.

This is the mother, bent and keening

while father mutters ancient words

anguish has stripped of meaning.

This dusty pile of stone was once a hospital.

This is rebar. This is a leg.

This is a gray hand reaching from the rubble.

I am a tiny yellow wire

carrying current for a lumbering machine

paving a path with thunder, iron and fire.

11/4/24