The Rubble of Qana
They told them to leave
No feast here. Home
Is home even for the displaced.
Numbers of families gathered
In a basement, thankful
To touch and see loved ones.
A belief that this blessing
Of recognition
Would keep them safe.
Of the new day
Darkest hour
A bunker buster bomb
Descended on this concrete
Structure; it was swift carnage.
Plumes of dust, rebar
Bent so awkwardly
A prison formed for those
Trying to recover remains. Inside
A silence; children, mothers,
Found dead as they slept.
No miracle, riddled
Bodies never cry- too porous.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment