Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
The calm is not. Fear
freezes the mind, controls
with its lascivious caress the
machines of
Action. Bullets pierce the
heart of the alive, where
doves roil in churning winds. Tanks
rake claws of tread across the muddy
poisoned landscape, as guttural cries
Rise from shattered throats, babies
blown asunder, barbed wire ribbons
lacing the battlefield, grim gaiety, funeral fashion
She
Rocks alone in a chair he loved, carved silently beside her as
She sipped tea and read a cozy mystery.
They were not young.
Their baby, adopted, had uncanny behavior and
Filled their lives with a persistent melancholy nothing could assuage when the
Bombs began to fall, they looked at
one another with a glance both knew
Signaled a fatal relief we
Cannot remain cursed in these
Bone ruts, these narrow slats slammed to open sky. We
Cannot curse the bringer of war or
the loser…all played their part, all
Necessary in the dreadful calculus we
Honor the fallen by disobeying the orders by
Firing an akashic shotgun loaded with
rainbows across knit-together
Galaxies the
Mind sits behind all that
Lives, a silent cat watching with a
Gleam in its emerald glittering eyes.
