What-If Celebrations

The grass,
what little of it grows here
waits patiently behind skyscraper rock.

The spring sun has risen,
one-hour past,
the glacial river
grows the canyon.

It is the day.

How long the grass has watched,
the tree has titled its branches,
the leaves have contained themselves.

But today…

There it is.
The first petal reaching out.
Its stem quivering.
Opening another.
And another,
Spreading open their cover of pride.
An alpine moment.
Another cherished spring.

Leaves applaud.
Grass sways in the breeze.
Urban fowl circle.
Their presence accepted.
Nature is pleased.

Higher above…

A clandestine flight.
A silent covert glide,
from whose wings
comes a sudden burst of fire.

Into the canyon’s village
erupts the cacophony of death.

The distant mountain’s silence falls dead
behind flame-filled smoke rising,
rushing skyward,
chasing sparrows, eagle and hawk asunder.

Thousands of miles away…

Cheers of success.
“Package delivered, Glorious General,

Who Descended From Heaven.”
Men applaud.
Women applaud.

This different celebration begins

and ends for the day,
the celebrants of ignorance
remaining unconscious.