A child
squats in the ash
listlessly fingering circles
Watching
Balancing on toes dug into the dust
Circle over circle Circle over circle Circle Over … Over …
Watching
his fathers falter
among the ruins
Beseeching the deaf stones for hope Balancing on toes …
Circle over circle
She sees
her brothers
drowned in manhood,
to devour the fathers’ rage.
Brothers vomiting stones heavenward.
Circle over circle
she watches . Silence watches. Watches
the mothers’ shadow
unflinching cast over her shoulders
numb to its woe Balancing on toes lost in the dust …
And the wind exhales
casting the earth into eyes of the child blinded by shields of furious locks
… and he stays, she stays
Unflinching
Toes digging into the unforgiving
They stay. Circling in the rain. They stay.
The children stay to see what comes.
Save for the insatiable appetite children have for discovery, our species, as your subtext suggests, that the circular mode of discovering is also the vortex of so many unauthentic persons that get caught up in this rotary syndrome and never escape. Enjoyed this read. Thank you for posting.
My book of poetry is being redone by me, I have a beautiful cover designed and the book will have a few more than 200 poems in it. I am going to have it printed on demand here in Canada. When it is done I will let you know when it is done and if anyo
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