Image

That image of the father, slowly, collecting carrion
pieces of flesh and bone, steadily, carefully, placing
them gently into the receptacle, plastic, brightly
coloured with lettering, blood tracing the edges,

in a cradling of the broken child, reduced to meat
by the bomb dropped from above, in demon’s roar
of rage and punishment; tangled together in fear,
dreams, loathing, love, regret, rage, defeat, grief – all

woven in a web of mind, spidered, clinging, waiting
for the breaking of heart, hope, terror, arranged,
chaotically on the shelf of the moment, cracked,
dusted, chipped, condemned in fate’s bleak, blind

eye, masked, black denial, shadowed delusion in
that place of hate and fear, scattered stars on scarlet
heavens where angels moan and weep; dismembered
child; dismembered parent; dismembered Palestine.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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